


Laws of Attraction

by ChristyCorr



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Community: reel_merlin, Derogatory Language, Divorce, Fake Marriage, Gay Bar, M/M, Magic, Marriage, Superpowers, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-16
Updated: 2009-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-02 13:59:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristyCorr/pseuds/ChristyCorr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin Emrys had strong convictions on the subjects of love and marriage—namely, that they should be avoided at all costs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laws of Attraction

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Законы привлекательности](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2807984) by [dust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dust/pseuds/dust)



> Beta-ed by firstlightofeos; film: 'Laws of Attraction,' starring Pierce Brosnan and Julianne Moore. And uh, the excessive movie quoting—and I'm not kidding when I say 'excessive'—in this fic definitely deserves a warning of its own. Seriously. I apologise in advance.

Merlin Emrys had strong convictions on the subjects of love and marriage—namely, that they should be avoided at all costs.

It came with the territory, of course: as one of the most sought-after divorce attorneys in New York, he had heard far too many horror stories to think well of romance. He could not imagine how two people could take such complete leave of their senses as to willingly take part in the world's most popular variety of suicide.

Merlin was never surer of these convictions than when he was about to destroy a philandering ex-husband in court.

"I mean, think about it," he said to a colleague while waiting for the bailiff to call him. "Best case scenario, you succeed in bankrupting and causing heartbreak to someone you once cared about, and end up with a new potential spouse to top it off. Worst case scenario, well," Merlin pointed to the about-to-lose party standing across the room and continued, lowering his voice, "heartbreak, bankruptcy, and, unless I'm very much mistaken, alarming suicidal tendencies. Look at him! The guy's a pathetic mess!"

Morgana glanced at the corner of the room to check whether the pathetic mess' wife was still chatting on her gold-cased iPhone before replying, "Well, some people are still romantic enough to want to take the leap."

"It's not a leap if there's _nothing to land on_," Merlin countered.

She rolled her eyes. "A dive, then."

"Ah," he smiled, "but no one knows how to swim."

"What about love?"

"Overrated. Biologically, no different from eating large quantities of chocolate—just more hallucinogenic."

Morgana threw her hands up in surrender.

"I just don't understand why people these days are still idiotic enough to give it a try when statistics have proven beyond any doubt that marriage is a doomed institution," he continued.

"Why are you complaining? You'd be out of a job if they weren't! Not that I wouldn't welcome you into Corporate Law with open arms, mind you, but you're unfortunately brilliant at this."

"It just pains me to see someone who should really know better fall into the trap! Divorce lawyers should, I don't know, get together and seek a mass injunction _ex parte_ to keep all delusional couples in the city from making the worst decision of their lives."

He made a face and Morgana laughed, having long since learned to cope with Merlin's undying hatred of marriage. He was always bitter when he neither believed nor liked his client, and this was one such case: Helen Mora was a completely heartless woman who had mistreated her husband for years, all the while keeping a PI on her payroll, just waiting to catch Mr. Mora with his pants down.

"Or we could try to get it outlawed," he rambled on. "It's not like it's a constitutional right or anything. Perhaps we can get somewhere with the idea that if gay couples aren't allowed to marry, maybe straight couples shouldn't be, either."

"Oh, God," she groaned. "You're still bitter about the Nevada thing, aren't you?"

"Gay marriage is now _legal_ in _Las Vegas_," Merlin wailed, looking like he was about to cry. "It's a plague! A nightmare! Worse! It's a nightmare _about_ a plague! Don't people realize they're not doing the gay community any favors by approving of this madness? We used to be the only ones legally protected from this tragedy, and now we're being corrupted, too!"

Seeing the wild look in Merlin's eyes, Morgana sensed that there might be something more serious at work here; he looked truly demented.

"It's the end of the world as we know it! No one is safe. No one! Next thing we know, marriage will be _compulsory_—I'll be tied to a chair and forced to watch as you walk down the aisle with some _guy_, and then they'll drug me and put me in a horrid bride's dress with taffeta, and brocade, and chiffon, and maybe feathers, and, and, oh heavens, _lace_." He let out a shaky breath, almost a dry sob, and begged, "Morgana, please don't let there be lace."

She was actually getting concerned now. "Merlin, is something wrong?"

Without another word, he fished his Blackberry out of his pocket and showed her the latest e-mail from his secretary. '_Mr. Mora just got new representation. I'll let you know if we hear anything new._'

"I don't like this at all," he said in a high-pitched whisper, clutching his briefcase like a leathery, unhelpful safety blanket. "I have a really bad feeling about this."

"Whoever it is, they'll definitely have a hard time catching up with the case this late in the game." She offered him her hands. "Come on, Merlin. Repeat after me: 'I'm a leaf on the wind.'"

"That _never_ ends well." Merlin scowled. "Look, Mora is an evil genius! Who knows what connections he has? He probably called down some über-lawyer whose name I'll recognize from landmark cases we memorized in _school_. Maybe he got Hillary Clinton! What will I do if he got Hillary Clinton? I cannot accuse a man of adultery in front of that woman!"

Morgana squeezed his hands, not knowing what else to do. Merlin suffered from quasi-pathological insecurity: he had just enough self-confidence to get himself to court, where everything flowed into place and he could take anything in stride, but before entering, the smallest things could throw him off-balance.

"I have comfort food," she offered with a knowing grin. "Entirely artificial, far too sugary, and completely unhealthy. What do you say?"

"That only works for girls," he mumbled, but the protest was half-hearted and they both knew it.

Morgana dug through her purse until she found a bag of Sno Balls, stuffed it inside Merlin's suitcase, and nodded towards the bathroom. "Go. I'll call you when it's time for you to enter."

Merlin ran off. As Murphy would have it, the bailiff called out the plaintiff's name seconds later; Morgana called Merlin's phone and he returned, cheeks still puffy with what looked like three or four Sno Balls stuffed inside in a hurry.

"Good luck." She walked him to the door and ruffled his black hair. "I'll see you back at the office."

"Thanks," he replied miserably, beckoning Helen Mora over. "Good luck with yours, too."

What use was a superpower if Merlin could barely handle a simple divorce hearing?

**

As a London-born child growing up in New York, Merlin had acquired a fascination with Superman at a very young age.

To the best of his recollection, the only British sci-fi heroes were Zenith (what kind of moronic superhero used his powers to become a pop star anyway?), Captain Britain (_lame_), and the Doctor, a centuries-old time-traveler whose idea of good accessorizing ranged from ridiculously long scarves to a clearly ill-advised stick of celery pinned to his lapel.

Americans, on the other hand, had created a nearly omnipotent superhero with only one known flaw. Superman was invincible—an icon who used his powers for a purpose, and had a flawless moral compass. Never more at ease than when donning his trademark red cape, he took on the alter ego of awkward reporter Clark Kent and forced himself to stumble through an ordinary life, seldom comfortable in his own skin.

Merlin was twelve years old and halfway through a tantrum when he first found out that he, too, had a superpower. His mother, who still considered herself a wide-eyed tourist even though they'd moved to the U.S. months ago, had wanted to take him to the Statue of Liberty for the umpteenth time, and Merlin had refused to go. Hunith would not take no for an answer; she'd stood by the door and stared her son down until he'd released his comic book and fetched his shoes.

It would have been foolish to glare at her, so Merlin had looked outside instead; it was a beautiful, sunny day. As he glared at the wisps of clouds, desperately wishing for rain, they seemed to obey—more and more gathered, blocking the sunlight and quickly turning the sky a terrible shade of gray.

Startled, Merlin focused on clearing the skies, and succeeded after a few minutes of hard concentration. Bad mood forgotten, he conjured up a thunderstorm and happily pointed it out to Hunith, who gave up on the outing.

It wasn't until a few months later that Merlin realized he had the most useless power ever. Superhero-based media, as a whole, irritated him; he felt cheated, as if the universe's Superpower Lottery had deemed Merlin only slightly more special than that poor kid who got stuck with 'Heart' in _Captain Planet_. Above all, Merlin developed a deep hatred of _X-Men_, and wasted hours daydreaming he could do as many cool things with his ability as Storm did with hers.

The only worthwhile act he could think of performing—bringing rain to places suffering lengthy periods of drought—was rendered impossible by his inability to fund random trips around the world. Plus, it wasn't as if he could advertise his services as a rain-bringing shaman or whatever, so he was stuck summoning angry cartoon-like clouds over the heads of people he disliked.

Merlin thought of Superman sometimes, and wondered if he would some day find a magical phone box that would transform him into a real superhero. For now, he settled for the lackluster, stressed life of a competent divorce attorney.

**

In hindsight, Merlin should have known that walking in to find the opposing counsel enjoying a clearly flirtatious chat with the judge was a sign of certain doom. At the time, he had been too occupied with conjuring a mental picture of his nightmare adversary to notice.

"Ah, Helen!" The blonde lawyer greeted her with a lecherous grin so obvious that even Merlin couldn't help noticing. He also saw that the judge had retreated into her chambers, and that Peter Mora had not yet entered the courtroom.

"Arthur," Mrs. Mora purred, ogling with lust and unmistakable familiarity, "how lovely to see you! It's been so long—I had no idea my husband had hired you!"

The woman didn't even have the common sense to sound vexed. The underlying 'If I'd known you were in town, I would've called!' might as well have been shouted from the rooftops.

Merlin turned to her and said under his breath, "If you cheated on your husband with his lawyer, we're settling."

"Don't be absurd," she chided him. "It never went far—Peter has no idea, and Arthur's certainly not telling. He's a gentleman!"

"He's a _lawyer_," Merlin reminded her through gritted teeth.

"I know!" she replied with a fond smile. "Isn't he _gorgeous_?"

The lawyer in question sauntered over and extended his hand. "I'm Arthur Pendragon." Merlin shook it, and his brain evaluated the handshake test of its own accord—Pendragon scored a 'completely straight' by any definition, not that his demeanor didn't make that obvious enough. "Merlin Emrys, I take it? I've heard good things."

"I—yes. Have you just moved to New York?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd give the East Coast thing a try for a while. It's looking pretty interesting so far, to be honest."

The lecherous grin was back, directed at him this time, and Merlin was forced to reexamine his previous assessment of Arthur's sexuality. Maybe he was just one of those guys who flirted with everyone, dabbling in bisexuality simply as a means to increase the pool of fuckable acquaintances.

Merlin hated guys like that with a passion.

"I think you'll find that New York is a competitive market, and not exactly what one would call a nurturing environment for starting lawyers who don't take their profession very, very seriously," he replied stiffly, and was pleased to see Pendragon's grin waver as the man blinked, staring at him in confusion.

Upon closer inspection, however, Arthur didn't seem annoyed by the curt reply; he motioned distractedly towards Merlin's cheek. After a few seconds, Merlin realized he still had a few Sno Ball crumbs by his lips, and tried to brush them off.

"No, no, it's not working, let me," Arthur offered, and before Merlin could protest, he removed a sizable crumb from Merlin's chin and licked it off his finger. "Ah. Sno Ball! I love those!"

Merlin, embarrassed to a degree he had never thought possible, tried his best not to blush and chose to say nothing.

Pendragon suddenly shifted gears. "I don't settle," he stated brusquely. "And I will of course be looking into all of Mrs. Mora's past indiscretions. I'm fairly certain that they predate Mr. Mora's alleged liaison, leaving you with no leg to stand on."

Well, two could play at this game. "There is no such history, and your unfounded accusations do little but reveal your unfamiliarity with the case. Mrs. Mora was an exemplary wife for ye—"

"I could describe in full, dirty detail several of her escapades, many of which happened _in their marital home_," Arthur said in an undertone, and Merlin made a silent vow to murder the woman in her sleep at the earliest possible convenience, "but I have a feeling I already know more about your client's marriage than you do, so I'll give Helen the pleasure of telling you herself. She's loud, see—loud and kinky and with an impressive penchant for voyeurism."

Merlin was mortified, and did his best to avoid eye contact with Arthur and Helen. Practicing Family Law had placed him in many a bizarre and awkward situation, but this case was quickly working its way up the list of his most unpleasant lawsuits.

Arthur raised his eyebrows, noticing his discomfort. "She _records them_, Emrys. I've seen the files in her computer. God! A divorce attorney who's a _prude_!" Merlin spluttered, and Pendragon turned to Mrs. Mora. "Where did you find this guy, Helen?"

She smiled, all dimples and charm, and Merlin marveled at the woman's complete lack of self-preservation instincts. "Well, I didn't know _you_ were willing to practice in New York, Arthur."

He smirked and took a step closer to her. "Spoliation of evidence is a crime, Helen. I want to see those files, and if you delete them, I'll be devastated."

Mrs. Mora laughed, neither confirming nor denying the existence of the videos. Watching the exchange with revulsion, Merlin decided that the two were equally asinine and completely deserved each other.

He glared at the window and made it snow. Okay, so it was September, but everyone knew the planet's climate was all kinds of wacky these days. Merlin comforted himself with the thought that maybe Pendragon would catch pneumonia and run screaming back to the West Coast before the day was over.

Sometimes, Merlin really hated his job.

**

"Merlin, channel 6, hurry!"

He turned on the TV before Morgana finished the short run from her office to his. The large LCD lit up with an image of Arthur, looking improbably great in his wrinkled suit.

Merlin relived that morning's humiliation simply from looking at the man's face, and cringed. "I don't think I've ever hated anyone on instinct alone, but _this guy_..."

Morgana shushed him and focused on the screen.

A standard blond bimbo was standing inside the courthouse, reporting on the day's events. "The notoriously messy divorce of Helen Mora, former _American Idol_ contestant, and her husband Peter, CEO of Mora Industries, has just taken a surprising turn. Mr. Mora has hired new counsel—Arthur Pendragon, newly arrived from the West Coast. Hundreds of millions are at stake in the Mora divorce, making it the talk of the town's legal circles. Mr. Pendragon," she said, turning to face the man himself and flashing him her best smile, "what do you think of the case?"

"Well, I've only just started familiarizing myself with it, which is why I requested a few days to get my bearings—but from what I've heard so far, it's a straightforward story. Mrs. Mora cheated on her husband, and according to their prenuptial agreement, this substantially reduces the percentage she'll receive after the divorce.

"With all due respect to my esteemed opponent, his case has as much chance as a," he brushed his fingers against his chin in a small gesture that would go unnoticed by anyone but Merlin, and finished with a wide grin, "_snowball in Hell._"

Morgana snorted. "Oh, I _love_ him!"

Merlin scowled.

"Yeah, yeah, curse my sudden yet inevitable betrayal and all that." She gave Merlin a wicked grin. "He _is_ cute, though."

**

In the next court session, the trial got ugly. Few of the files from Helen Mora's computer were recovered, and none of them identified the participants' faces or bodies clearly enough to be used as evidence. Nevertheless, Pendragon requested a forensic analysis of the videos; he was so confident about the forthcoming results that Merlin couldn't even bring himself to regret deleting over half of her collection before the court order arrived.

He could tell Mr. Mora had true feelings for his wife, and that made Merlin feel worse—the look of misery on the man's face when Arthur harped on about her infidelity was dreadful.

_Look at your client, idiot,_ Merlin was dying to say. _He doesn't want you to fight dirty. He just wants this to end._

Merlin said nothing; instead, he focused on the deterioration-of-the-relationship angle, with the husband's cheating as the main symptom. He continued to deny that Mrs. Mora had been unfaithful, and it was clear that the judge was not convinced by either party's arguments.

Fortunately, Pendragon had yet to find witnesses to confirm Mrs. Mora's promiscuity. Peter's reluctance was working against his case—several of the couples' friends refused to testify, knowing that the loss of millions might cause Mora less distress than knowledge of his wife's betrayal.

The third day of the trial saw a new man walk into the courtroom alongside Arthur Pendragon. Merlin watched their approach with unabashed horror: he could see from the fury in Mora's eyes and the stiffness of his posture that Pendragon had finally broken him. He'd gone past the heartbreak and had settled on post-breakup rage.

"You _bitch_," Peter hissed when they approached Merlin's table. "I can't believe I wasted six years of my life with such a _cunt_."

She seemed confused. Arthur pulled Merlin aside to inform him cheerfully that Mora's brother had confessed to a drunken fumble with Helen after months of resisting her advances. It had now become almost too easy, said Pendragon, to conjure up a myriad of witnesses for their side.

Peter Mora was on the warpath, and Merlin was screwed.

**

He lost spectacularly, and Arthur's very public gloating ensured that Merlin ended up becoming the butt of every joke at the office.

For several days following the ruling, he could barely stand to look at his associates' faces. Mr. Gaius, the centuries-old senior partner in the firm, called Merlin to the top floor and gave him a stern lecture; by the time he was finished, Merlin was so busy wobbling out of the room that he couldn't even remember whether he was still employed.

On the plus side, Helen Mora's plans of starting a singing career were permanently put on hold. And with any luck, Arthur Pendragon would finally leave town and Merlin would never set eyes on him again.

**

Pendragon moved his practice to New York.

Meteorologists were in an uproar—Manhattan hadn't seen a snowstorm this severe since 1978. Greenpeace membership soared. The government's environmental policies were widely criticized and debated; Jon Stewart covered the Congressional hearings dressed as a penguin.

Merlin rented _The Day After Tomorrow_ from Netflix one night, and wondered if he could get over his hatred of Arthur Pendragon before causing a worldwide cataclysm.

**

Merlin's next big case was the divorce of Guy Valiant, a host on _Animal Planet_. His wife, after three years of marriage, had suddenly decided that sharing a house with reptiles, arachnids, and insects of varying sizes constituted 'cruel and inhuman treatment' on Mr. Valiant's part.

Valiant's wife hired Pendragon, of course, who was building an impressive name for himself in the City. Arthur tackled the case with the tenacity Merlin was starting to identify as a major personality trait of his, but this time Merlin was ready for him.

In an inspired bout of showmanship, he presented Valiant to the court as a courageous, loving man who catered to his wife's every whim. Their domestic menagerie, said Merlin, had in fact been Mrs. Valiant's idea—a symbol of their love, bearing evidence of the many interests the couple had once had in common. If she had suddenly decided to betray the ideals they'd both shared, mistreating the animals and—the horror!—investing in a fur coat company, well, Mr. Valiant was hardly to blame for clinging to the shattered remnants of their once-happy home, reminders of a relationship he was now, alas, unable to salvage, protect, and nurture.

(So what if Valiant had already found a new girlfriend, and was all too glad to be rid of the manic wife who had played havoc with his home life for years? Both parties were guilty here, and Merlin would be damned if he allowed Arthur to beat him again.)

Pendragon's incessant prattling on the subject of nine-inch tarantulas, 20-feet anacondas and, on one memorable occasion, a lion borrowed from the local zoo, was all but forgotten by the time Merlin finished. The judge had a silly smile on her face, and gazed at Mr. Valiant as though he were as chevalier and heartbroken as Merlin had claimed him to be. Mrs. Valiant stared at her husband with moist eyes, her hands clasped.

"Pull yourself together!" Pendragon hissed, exasperated by her ill-advised display of emotion.

"But it's _true_!" she wailed. "The animals were our marriage, see? That's why he held on to them—oh, Guy, I'm so sorry!"

She started to get up, but Arthur held her in place; Merlin made a show of keeping Valiant from crossing the room, too, even though the man had no intention of doing so.

"Order!" barked the judge, but her smile had widened.

Merlin knew then and there that he had won the case.

**

Merlin was in such high spirits after leaving court that not even the horrid case that fell into his lap that afternoon was enough to dampen his mood.

Gwen Afanc was a kind-hearted woman whose husband was the CEO of Griffin Inc., one of largest battery manufacturers in the country. Days ago, she'd overheard conversations mentioning the cover-up of the disastrous contamination of a Jersey town's water supply. Horrified, she found herself unable to endure even looking at her husband; she wished to divorce him as quickly as possible, and to testify against the company in the event of a lawsuit.

Merlin instructed her to take a trip to Europe while he made arrangements to investigate the matter, and asked Morgana to find him a lawyer who specialized in environmental class action litigation.

He also phoned a private investigator to follow Mr. Afanc while Gwen was traveling. Merlin usually preferred taking the higher route, but scumbags like Afanc disgusted him, and he felt no remorse.

Hopefully, the contamination wouldn't even have to be mentioned in the case, and the adultery alone would be sufficient to strip the man of every dime he'd ever earned. Mr. Afanc certainly deserved it.

**

Morgana took—well, dragged—Merlin out to celebrate the upcoming victory in the Valiant case. Unsurprisingly, she disappeared with some guy minutes after they entered the club, and Merlin was left alone by the bar.

Within an hour, Merlin was already unsteady on his feet, chugging the latest in a series of appletinis, uncomfortable with the loud music and feeling far too exposed in the outfit Morgana had convinced him to wear. It screamed 'twink,' and while Merlin had no problem admitting his sexual orientation, he found the conventional gay-man-on-the-prowl dressing norm far more difficult to swallow.

He caught a glimpse of all-too-familiar blond hair moving towards the bar, and groaned. It stood to reason that Arthur Pendragon would find a way to make _every single part_ of his life miserable—naturally. This was no crazy, random happenstance; the universe was out to get Merlin, and he had no choice but to wait for the inevitable confrontation.

Merlin was almost disappointed to see that Arthur had missed him entirely; he had headed straight toward the opposite end of the bar, and was about to order a drink when a pretty girl beckoned him to her table.

Her name was Cara Lagos, and if her widespread reputation was to be believed, she had a penchant for lacing unsuspecting strangers' drinks with peyote—_peyote_, what the _fuck_, the girl was a total lunatic—just for kicks.

Merlin marveled at Pendragon's willingness to chat amicably with a psychopath before remembering that Arthur was new to town. In all likelihood, he had never heard of Lagos' bizarre standing in the New York club scene. After wrestling with his conscience for a few moments, he pushed and shoved at least twenty people to approach the couple—and just in time, too: Cara had taken advantage of the distraction Merlin had caused to empty a vial into Arthur's drink.

"Pendragon," he said with a curt nod. The greeting would have sounded far more casual if Merlin hadn't stumbled over three large—and now rather unhappy-looking—men on his way to the table. Some of their beers had toppled over, too, and Merlin's shirt was drenched.

Arthur raised his eyebrows by way of response, and glanced at the three men.

Merlin ignored them, and moved closer to him. "Listen," he said hurriedly, forgetting that Cara was well within earshot, "get rid of your drink somehow. That girl, she's a total nutcase, she's laced it with something—"

"Asshole! I was just having _fun_!" Cara shrieked, emptying Arthur's glass on Merlin's face.

He spluttered, wondering if the few drops on his lips were already enough to get him high, and took a step away from the crazy person on instinct. His back hit a hard surface, and Merlin cursed the day he was born when the guy behind him grabbed his shoulder and turned him around.

"Excuse me," the largest of the three barked. Merlin bit back a whimper as he reeled from the impact of the strongest high school _déjà vu_ he'd experienced in years, Arthur-induced humiliations aside.

"You're unbelievable," Pendragon breathed out bemusedly, reaching for Merlin's other shoulder and pulling him close to defend him.

Merlin appreciated the reciprocity, he did, but even though Arthur was well-built, he was obviously no match for these three weightlifters. When he opened his mouth to mention this, Pendragon aimed a rather ungrateful kick at his shin.

Arthur shook his head. "Even wasted, I can handle this one."

The jocks seemed to agree with Merlin. Arthur's interference, if anything, had only annoyed them further. "Dude, do you really think you can hold your own against the three of us just to help your fucking _boyfriend_?"

Merlin's brain hadn't even processed the suggestion that he and Arthur were together—because, um, no, the guy was _disgusting_; and also, well, he was a bit flattered by the idea that someone in the world thought Arthur Pendragon was in his league, but really, _no_—before it realized that Arthur hadn't bothered denying it. That somehow made his mind wander to a treacherous, alcohol-fuelled place where such scenarios were insanely less disturbing.

"He's not just my fucking boyfriend, he's also my fucking _client_," Arthur stated, bristling. "I'm an attorney. And you'd better not even _think_ about laying a finger on him, or I'll have you in trial for a hate crime before you land the first punch."

The men immediately backtracked, and Merlin stared at Pendragon in open wonder. "Hey, man, don't make this into a gay thing, all right?" said the second one. "We don't care if he's a faggot, we just—"

"I could have you charged for using that word alone," Arthur spat with evident disgust. "Get the fuck out of here before I decide you're worth the hassle."

They obeyed, and Merlin had no idea what to say. He was still somewhat horrified that a two-minute exchange and eight appletinis had been enough to make Arthur Pendragon seem appealing.

Pendragon asked him in a bemused tone, as if their conversation had not been interrupted, "She put something in my drink? Really?"

"Yeah, she—she does do that," Merlin stuttered. "Peyote. She's weird."

"Ah. Thank you, then, I suppose."

Merlin gestured toward where the three giants had been standing. "You've already more than made it up to me, so..."

"Well, I'm not really a flowers kind of guy." Pendragon smirked. "Speaking of which, you stink."

Merlin could hardly dispute this. Bloody Marys and beer were definitely not meant to be experienced together. He hated the smell of tomatoes, and the strong odor of beer magnified the unpleasantness to an unbearable degree.

Still, he didn't appreciate being _told_ that he reeked.

"Leave me alone," he muttered, unable to think of an insult he'd be willing to use against someone who had just talked three thugs out of beating him.

"Hey, you were the one who came all the way here!"

The man did have a point; Merlin didn't even know what he was still doing there. In fact, remaining there was quickly becoming a hazard to his sanity and presence of mind.

He turned to leave, and only then remembered that he wasn't exactly steady on his feet. After Merlin had taken two unsure steps toward the other side of the bar—this time, paying attention not to bump into anyone dangerous—Pendragon called out, "Oh, don't run _away_!"

Merlin gritted his teeth and faced him again. "Yes?"

"You're just going to continue drinking and pass out if you sulk there all by yourself, Emrys. You clearly need someone to keep an eye on you—come on, stay here, and I'll try to make sure you don't topple over."

And just like that, whatever residual gratitude Merlin had in him evaporated. "What makes you think I'd want to tolerate you? We're not _friends_. I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass! Do you think I'd be here drinking if I didn't know I'd have to get up in the morning and see you in court?"

The remark's viciousness surprised Arthur, and Merlin defiantly took advantage of the silence to order a shot of tequila.

"You'll end up comatose," Pendragon warned.

Merlin downed the shot in one go, very much not thinking about why he was so keen on getting shitfaced, and Arthur winced.

"No, seriously, _stop_."

"Barman!" Merlin yelled, and within seconds he returned from the counter with an entire tequila bottle to himself.

"Emrys. Emrys. _Merlin._" Arthur grabbed his arm, and Merlin, startled, wheeled around to look at him. Whoa—he had to hold on to the table for support. Okay, avoiding sudden movements seemed like a good idea right about now. "These are pretty strong. Give yourself some time before you drink more, at least."

He narrowed his eyes, and poured himself another shot.

Arthur's nostrils flared. "How's your knee-walking, Emrys? Because you're sure as hell not _walking_ out of here if you drink any more."

Merlin snorted. "Are you hitting on me, Arthur? Because that's a really terrible pick-up line."

The words came out of his lips unbidden, and he wanted to scream at himself, loudly and at length, for the subversive _non sequitur_. The worst part was that he meant it—a small yet vocal part of him was desperate to hear some reassurance that Arthur was at all interested.

Pendragon had the gall to be amused. "If I were hitting on you, _Merlin_, you'd know."

"For the record," Merlin said stiffly, trying to compose himself, "I'm not interested. Not even remotely."

To his consternation, Arthur didn't miss a beat and countered with an all-too-true, "Why are you drinking, then?"

He was about to think of a proper comeback when Arthur reached for the glass and drank a shot of his own—and another, and another. Merlin stared.

Arthur smirked and met his gaze, unwavering.

Merlin made a small, desperate noise at the back of his throat and reached for the bottle.

**

It was a clear night outside, and the few parts of Merlin's brain that still made sense were trying to come up with some excuse to get away from Pendragon.

They hadn't drunk or talked much more since reaching an unspoken agreement regarding where the night was heading. They hadn't even touched; Merlin was so hyperaware of the distance between them that when Arthur brushed past him on the way to the exit, he'd nearly jumped.

"I'll go call a cab," said Arthur, shrugging on a long brown coat as he made his way to the sidewalk.

Merlin fidgeted with his jacket; it took him a few seconds to muster the resolve to say, "Yeah, all right. I'll just walk home; the weather's pretty nice."

Arthur threw him a disbelieving look.

"It's better!" Merlin insisted, trying to pretend he'd misunderstood the incredulity. "I'd have to wait ages for the cab, and I'll be exhausted enough to crash by the time I get home."

Within seconds, Arthur was standing far closer than was proper—or advisable, really, since Merlin was near enough to the verge of a mental breakdown. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said, sliding his hand up under Merlin's shirt.

As if on cue (not that it wasn't), a thunderclap sounded in the distance, and it started pouring.

"Oh, God, this is sabotage," Merlin whined to no one in particular. "This is _self-sabotage_!"

Arthur seemed confused, but didn't ask. His hand moved up Merlin's back and pulled him nearer, closing what little distance there was between them. Before he could do anything else, he saw a taxi zooming past and whistled. It screeched to a halt and Arthur, probably unwilling to leave Merlin hanging after the build-up of expectation, spared a couple of seconds to kiss him thoroughly.

Merlin ran his hand through Arthur's now-soaked hair, feeble protests forgotten. Arthur guided him several steps forward and reached back blindly to open the cab door. They all but stumbled inside, trying to regain their composure so Arthur could give the driver his address with a straight face.

Looking out the window, pressed as close to the door (and as far from Arthur) as he could be, Merlin said, "You can whistle really loud, you know that?"

His ridiculous attempt at small talk made Arthur laugh.

Arthur's fingers dug into Merlin's thigh, teasingly inching closer to where he wanted them, and it was almost too hard not to kiss him again; but Merlin's self-control was already hanging by a thread—he didn't know if he'd be able to stop once they started up again.

"I thought you were straight at first," Merlin confessed. "What with the hitting on Helen Mora and all."

"I wasn't hitting on her. Helen is—an old mistake, really. But I'm not fully gay, either." He smirked. "I wouldn't want to deprive either sex of the _privilege_, see."

Merlin groaned. "You're such an ass."

"And yet you're coming home with me."

"All that alcohol must've impaired my judgment something awful."

Arthur grabbed him through his pants then, full-on and without warning; he slid over and turned around, half-sitting with a knee between Merlin's legs.

"You're sober enough," he said with a fierce grin, tightening his grip. "But maybe you haven't thought this through. For all you know, my apartment could be full of snakes and fucking _tarantulas_. What then?"

For a moment, Merlin was trying too hard to cope with being pounced on to form a coherent response. "Well, if you really want this, you'd better hope there are no tarantulas," he panted as Arthur leaned forward, pinning him against the backseat without moving his lips or _his damned hand_. "Major—oh, God," Arthur did move his hand then, and Merlin could think of no better word to say than, "buzz-kill."

"'Buzz-kill'—really? Really?"

Tired of being on the receiving end of Arthur's sadistic teasing, Merlin chose not to answer and leaned forward, crushing their lips together and reaching down to start some sadism of his own. Arthur lifted his hips to make things easier for him.

He had just undone the fly of Arthur's pants when the driver called out, relief and embarrassment evident in his tone, "We're here, gentlemen."

Merlin honest-to-God growled, and Arthur laughed, sitting up to get his wallet.

"Tarantulas, here we come."

**

Merlin woke to the sound of the unforgivably cheery ringtone he'd set for the firm's numbers. _Hakuna matata,_ his cell phone blared. _What a wonderful phrase!_

He jumped out of bed to dig through piles of scattered clothing in search of the offending gadget. His efforts proved futile; seconds later, Arthur walked out of the bathroom—shit, still wet and wearing nothing but a towel—and handed him the phone.

"_It means no worries for the rest of your days_!" Arthur hummed as he browsed his wardrobe to decide what to wear. "_It's our problem-free philosophy_!"

Merlin did his best to look away. Last night, he would've gladly stared, and more—but now the entire situation seemed far too inappropriate for comfort. He was itching to leave as fast as he could.

"Are you going to answer that?" Arthur asked without turning around.

Merlin did; it was his secretary, reminding him that he was due in court within an hour for the closing arguments in the Valiant case.

"How did my phone end up in the bathroom anyway?" he asked, not knowing what else to say.

"It was ringing earlier today; I tossed it there."

"Okay."

Merlin only then remembered he was naked, and hurried to get dressed. Arthur heard the rustling noise and offered with awkward politeness, "There's a towel in the bathroom. Borrow something of mine to wear, or you'll be late for court."

Something in Arthur's voice was making Merlin cringe, and during the shower, he managed to place it: there was no more teasing, no more arrogance—nothing. They'd become complete strangers, and Merlin now found himself in unfamiliar territory.

Of _course_ Arthur was the kind of guy who became a dick the next morning to prevent his one-night-stands from becoming complications. They'd had fun the previous night, but the sex hadn't been extraordinary enough to make Merlin desperate for a follow-up. If Arthur wanted to ignore him and forget what had happened, that was fine with him.

He borrowed a suit of Arthur's, in which he obviously looked ridiculous, and rode with him to the courthouse. What little conversation they attempted was stilted, and after a few minutes they gave up trying and settled for a tense silence.

The trial was bound to be a riot.

**

Arthur delivered his closing arguments first, and was doing a fine job. Merlin's emotional diatribe of the previous afternoon was mostly forgotten, and Arthur had spun many of the witnesses' statements to his favor. Merlin paid close attention to his speech, taking mental notes of the points he'd have to approach in his summation.

However, when Arthur was wrapping up his speech, he said, "Therefore, no one could expect her to live with a _clearly deranged psychopath_—"

"Objection!" Merlin spoke up at once. "Inflammatory! Mr. Valiant's mental health was not called into question at any point during these proceedings! Opposing counsel is insulting my client with no goal other than cheap rhetoric."

"I'm going to allow it," the judge replied, and turned to Arthur, saying, "Mr. Pendragon, limit your summation to the facts presented before this court."

His momentum lost, Arthur glowered at Merlin, who couldn't find it in himself to feel guilty. He smiled; Arthur's nostrils flared.

"The fact remains, Your Honor, that if Mr. Valiant's wish to keep a veritable zoo in his home is not a sign of some kind of mental imbalance, it surely indicates at the very least an astonishing disregard for his marital bliss."

Merlin let out a snort, and Arthur heard him.

He wheeled around. "You disagree, Mr. Emrys?"

Dumbfounded at being spoken to during summation, Merlin nodded.

"Because see, that was not your position last night."

Merlin gaped.

"Assuming you remember last night's—" Arthur leered, raising an eyebrow, "_position_."

Merlin was all too aware that his face was burning. The judge hadn't called them out on the entirely inappropriate exchange yet, and a part of Merlin was hoping she'd hold Arthur in contempt for it.

"You agreed that any wife would consider her husband's maintaining a domestic zoo—well, I believe the actual phrase was 'a major buzz-kill.' You've changed your mind, then, Counselor?"

Merlin slid further down in his chair, willing the earth to swallow him up while simultaneously planning a thousand different ways to murder Arthur Pendragon within the next few seconds.

Before Merlin could react, the judge intervened. God damn her, the woman was _smirking_. All judges were unabashed sadists; Merlin had learned this years ago. Why would someone choose a career that basically consisted of bearing witness to people's humiliation and making everyone miserable?

"Are you quite finished, Mr. Pendragon?"

"I am, Your Honor." He sat down without a glance towards Merlin, and Mrs. Valiant congratulated him on 'flooring' their opponent.

"Mr. Emrys, you have the floor."

Merlin's speech was a disaster. He never quite recovered from the shame, and he couldn't bring himself to look the judge in the eyes. His summation was at best incoherent, and he babbled instead of orating; it was no surprise when the judge ruled in Mrs. Valiant's favor.

It took all of Merlin's self-control not to call down lightning to smite Pendragon on the spot.

**

"Emrys!" Arthur called out as Merlin was walking down the steps of the courthouse. He sped up, but Pendragon reached him within seconds.

"Yes?" he replied, trying for 'nonchalance' and settling for 'barely-contained rage.'

"You had a good case. It was nothing personal, yeah? Just—theatrics and all."

"Theatrics." Merlin took a deep breath in an attempt to steady his tone. "Yeah. Of course."

"You made me fight dirty in there—a new low for me, definitely. I've never—"

Merlin clenched his jaw and interrupted him, "Look, don't worry about it. If I let every lawyer I've ever bagged get to me, I wouldn't have a career. You just caught me unawares, that's all."

Arthur frowned. "I—"

"Like I said, don't worry about it."

He hailed a cab and hurried inside. For good measure, he glared at Pendragon through the darkened windows and made rain clouds follow him for the rest of the day.

It wasn't quite smiting, but it would have to do.

**

Everything went downhill from there. Merlin had dreaded facing Arthur in court before the Valiant ordeal; now he sought cases where he would be Pendragon's _ex adversus_ with a vengeance.

Balancing his usual caseload with the extra work he was taking on out of spite meant he was clocking in at least twelve billable hours a day, but he didn't mind. Mr. Gaius was thrilled, and only Morgana complained that Merlin's current schedule left him with no free time.

He kept score, and was certain that Arthur did, too. Since their meeting, they'd each lost five cases to the other; after their eleventh case, Merlin took the lead for the first time.

They never met in non-work-mandated circumstances again—in fact, Merlin studiously avoided social engagements that Arthur was likely to attend—but somehow managed to accumulate plenty of resentment and ill-will towards each other. Their reluctance to talk outside of case-related settings meant that their animosity was only given voice before the judges. Needless to say, their courtroom shenanigans were getting increasingly spectacular, and the New York City judges were in equal parts entertained and annoyed. By the time Arthur evened out the score, with ten victories each, they were mostly very annoyed.

"After all, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune—"

"Stop quoting Jane Austen like it's the damned Bible! _God_," Merlin groaned, rolling his eyes, "could you be any gayer?"

The judge glowered at them. "Counselor, your views on the opposing counsel's sexual orientation are in _no way_ relevant to the case at hand. Please refrain from speaking unless you have a valid objection to raise."

Arthur flashed Merlin a triumphant grin, receiving a scowl in response.

They also had an ongoing score for sustained objections and judge reprimands, but those were already too numerous to count.

Sometimes, Merlin wondered if this feud would cost him his career. He soon concluded that it hardly mattered; he had never felt this engaged in his profession before. The challenge and excitement were almost worth the displeasure of facing Arthur Pendragon in court twice a week.

**

The firm's large net of private investigators had already found plenty of dirt on the Afanc case by the time Morgana located an Environmental Law specialist to her liking.

She introduced him to Merlin between trials—as she so often complained, his newfound workaholic tendencies meant he was only away from work when he was sleeping.

"Merlin!" Morgana called out when she saw him leaving the courtroom with a client.

A judge had just ruled in Arthur's favor, and Merlin was in a terrible mood. He would've ignored her if he weren't all too aware of Morgana's skills at grievous bodily harm; with that in mind, he said goodbye to his client after promising to win the appeal, and ambled over to meet her.

Morgana smiled at him as though she knew he'd considered walking past her and indicated the man standing next to her.

"Merlin, this is Lance Noble. He's a friend of a friend—long story. But he's your guy for the Afanc case. Lance, this is Merlin."

They shook hands; Merlin took an immediate liking to him.

"I work mostly with tort law, but I've done a lot of work for Greenpeace," Lance explained. "They have a large team of volunteers who do research for class litigation, and they'll be delighted to back me up on this one."

"Brilliant!"

"Morgana has filled me in on the basics, but I'd like to meet Mrs. Afanc to get everything in writing as soon as possible. We're nailing this guy fair and square!"

Merlin nodded, appreciating the man's enthusiasm. "She's been in Europe for a couple of months, but she'll be back soon."

"Will you want to cooperate with the lawsuit or are you just leaving it in my hands once the divorce is finalized?"

"Well, that's up to you, really, but if you don't mind, I'd like to at least watch it from afar. I used to be friends with some folks at Greenpeace back in college. I have no idea what they're up to these days."

Lance tilted his head with interest. "Oh, really? Anyone I might know?"

"I don't know—William Smithson? Matthew Dye?"

"Of course!" Lance grinned. "They're still around. Matthew's traveling onboard the _Arctic Sunrise_ to combat bycatch, and William works in the Brooklyn office—he's getting his Ph.D. at NYU. He's brilliant! I'll let him know I ran into you; if you want, I can take you to meet Eva—she's our area organizer—she'll be thrilled to have you on the team!"

Merlin smiled, remembering all too well what it was like to have friends who were fanatical about their cause. He didn't think Will would be happy to see him, though. "All right, then. Will's getting a Ph.D.? What in?"

"Genomics and Systems Biology."

"That's nice," Merlin replied absently, having no idea what that entailed. He'd have to brush up on his Bio-speak to keep up with Lance and his crowd. "And how did you get involved with Greenpeace?"

They chatted amicably for a few minutes; they were still talking when Arthur left the courtroom and, seeing them, walked over. Merlin's back was turned; he only noticed the newcomer when Arthur put a hand on his shoulder and waited to be introduced.

He grimaced. "Lance, Morgana, this is Arthur Pendragon, all-around jackass and my arch-nemesis. Pendragon, this is Morgana, my colleague at the firm, and Lance, who's collaborating with me on a case you'd better hope you don't take—not even _you_'d be willing to defend that horrible a client."

"Arthur!" Morgana said with evident pleasure, beaming at him. She seemed thrilled to meet the man at last, and for a horrible second Merlin thought she was going to hit on him. "How have you been?" Wait, what?

Arthur smiled brightly at her as Merlin freaked out internally. When had they met? Why hadn't Morgana said anything? Why was she _fraternizing with the enemy_?

"Of course I've met Morgana, you idiot," Arthur said to him with warmth that only Merlin could identify as insincere. "And it's a pleasure to meet you." He offered Lance his right hand, still not letting go of Merlin.

Lance's gaze went from Arthur to Merlin before it landed on the proprietary hand on Merlin's shoulder; understanding dawned on his face, and no one bothered to correct his obvious assumption. Merlin was mortified, but figured that acknowledging Lance's supposition would only cause further embarrassment.

He chose to express his frustration with a heartfelt glare at Morgana, who only laughed. "Come on, Merlin, I got his phone number _ages_ ago. How else would the two of you know which cases to pick? I'm just helping you terrorize the city's judiciary system some more."

"He didn't—" Arthur turned to Merlin with a smirk. "You didn't know? How _naïve_," he all but cooed, ruffling Merlin's hair. The sudden friendliness-slash-intimacy was wreaking havoc with Merlin's brain. Where had it come from? What was Arthur playing at?

"Merlin has issues," Morgana said kindly.

He glowered. "I've done some dumb things, that's all."

"'Seeing as how I'm one of those things, I can't give you too hard a time on that, Shellie,'" Arthur quoted happily.

Merlin gaped at him; he hadn't even intended to make the reference, and he certainly hadn't expected a proper reply. Arthur was _good_ at this. Damn him! "Morgana, please tell me you didn't fill _Arthur Pendragon_ in on our quotes thing."

"I may have mentioned it at some point or another," she admitted, not sounding at all repentant. "I have to admit I thought it was beyond him, but the boy has a talented brain. He managed to quote the entire _Trainspotting_ opening monologue to me the other day!"

Merlin was impressed despite himself—that impossibly difficult monologue had cemented his friendship and ongoing movie and TV quotes challenge with Morgana years ago. He was careful not to show his surprise; Arthur looked smug enough after hearing her frank praise.

"How do you guys even find the time to watch things?" Lance asked.

Merlin shrugged. "I had a very geeky childhood."

"I have a good memory," Arthur said simply. Well, of _course_ he did—it figured that even this would come easily to the bastard.

"I have Merlin," was Morgana's honest answer.

"Well, I have to go," Arthur said, checking his watch. "It was great seeing you guys—and Merlin, good job today. Better luck next time, yeah? You can't win them all!"

Arthur disappeared swiftly, leaving Merlin dumbfounded.

"He's a piece of work," Lance noted with amusement.

"Oh, we're not—"

"They are," Morgana interrupted. "Well, it's complicated. But in case you missed the hands-off vibe Arthur was trying his damnedest to project, he'll kill you if you try anything."

Lance nodded; he hadn't missed it. _Sarah Palin_ couldn't have missed it.

"Hands-off—what? Morgana! Are you out of your mind?"

She chuckled, shaking her head. "You're _territory_, Merlin. He might as well have pissed all over you. And anyway, Lance is straight, so don't get your hopes up."

"I wasn't—" Merlin began, flustered. He really hadn't even thought about it; he hadn't wondered whether Lance was gay, or checked him out at all—which was a pity, because the man definitely wasn't bad-looking. Maybe the extra work hours were getting to Merlin's brain.

"I know, I know," she said, smiling. "You only have eyes for Arthur."

He stared. Unfortunately, it was true; not in the way she meant it, of course, but still. Okay, maybe a little in the way she meant it, since Merlin hadn't even considered being with another guy since Arthur, but surely that was more lack of opportunity than anything else. After all, Merlin had been busy at work lately, venting his Arthur-inspired frustration in non-world-climate-destroying ways.

Merlin paused, reviewing that last thought: his '_frustration,_' really? The word choice would've been ominous even if Morgana weren't looking at him as if waiting for him to realize what she'd concluded a long time ago.

"You're a deeply horrible human being," he said with a defeated sigh, and she grinned, knowing she'd driven the point home. "Come on, let's go grab a bite or something, and we can talk about the Afanc case."

**

Much to Morgana's amusement, being introduced to Lance did not make Merlin spend less time obsessing over Arthur. In truth, it seemed like things were getting even worse.

Arthur was _everywhere_. For a month or so, it appeared that he was taking on every new divorce case in the city; Merlin faced him in at least eight out of ten trials. They also started running into each other in unlikely places, from the Museum of Natural History to Barney's—it wasn't even stalking, since Arthur often arrived before he did.

Merlin felt like the universe—or maybe Morgana—was punishing him for something. When questioned, she denied everything; he didn't quite believe her.

Hoping to rid himself of bad karma, he dedicated himself with increasing enthusiasm to the Afanc case. He helped Lance interview families in the area affected by the factory leak, and convinced dozens of specialists to help them research its effects.

Somehow, he'd managed to avoid running into Will, but he was all too aware it was only a matter of time. Maybe it wouldn't be a complete disaster. On the other hand, maybe Will would convince Lance that Merlin was a bastard unworthy of their help.

After all, over the course of their three-year relationship, Merlin had managed to betray Will's beliefs more times than he could count. For one, he never got overly involved with LGBTQ events or causes—he couldn't in his right mind support gay marriage, which was a major issue. He was also skeptical about the benefit of many Greenpeace protests. In the end, though, Merlin's power had been the breaking point: Will had almost murdered him when he'd found out, for obvious reasons.

Merlin was in court, letting his mind wander during the opposing counsel's opening argument, when he made up his mind to seek Will out and face the matter. If Will decided to be difficult, there was little Merlin could do; he might as well find out soon and, worst case scenario, step away from the case.

"What if, in fact, it _was_ just a bagel?" Arthur bellowed, drawing Merlin's full attention back to him. What the hell—was he _tap-dancing_?

"Counselor," the judge said wearily, "you are making a mockery of my courtroom and I'm not going to allow it. I suggest you start representing your client and stop representing yourself."

Merlin chuckled. "_Chicago_, really?" he asked in an undertone, biting back a grin.

"Hey, you weren't paying attention." Arthur shrugged. "It's no fun if you're not paying attention."

For better or for worse, Merlin had to admit that facing Arthur Pendragon in court was never dull.

**

Merlin would have met Will, he totally would've, but unfortunately life got in the way. Or, more specifically, work got in the way, in the shape of an oily, unlikable man named Edwin Muirden.

Mr. Muirden was the owner of a small but very famous chain of Las Vegas casinos called The Beetles. The casinos' straightforward and mystifying slogan—"Everybody wins. Always."—had financial analysts throughout the country scratching their heads, poring over their numbers and trying to figure out where all the money came from. It wasn't even false advertisement; to the best of everyone's knowledge, all players left the casino floor with at least as much money as they'd brought with them.

Muirden was a proud, disagreeable man whom Merlin disliked on sight. However, Mrs. Muirden had already retained Arthur's counsel, thereby ensuring that Merlin would accept the case. They were both obscenely rich—Sophia Aulfric-Muirden was heiress to Avalon Cosmetics—and would have parted on quasi-amicable terms if both weren't determined to retain ownership of the casino chain. Either Muirden would have enough money to compensate the other for half of the casinos' value without having to sell, but they were adamant.

For once, Arthur and Merlin's stubbornness wasn't to blame for the couple's refusal to settle. They had lengthy meetings with the couple, and managed to have them agree on almost everything, with two exceptions: ownership of the casinos, and custody of their son.

"You simply don't understand, Mr. Pendragon," Edwin said condescendingly. "I've dedicated my entire life to those casinos. She wouldn't even know what to do with them. Everything would fall apart within months."

Sophia scoffed. "You don't even know anyone's names! You fly out to Vegas once a week, play a hand or two of poker with the high-rollers, and think that's all there is to running a casino! You're fucking _useless_."

"Language, sweetheart," he mocked her. "Kiss our son with that mouth, do you?"

She was bordering on hysterical—she did that often. "Mordred's not even _here_, you fuckwit," she spat.

Merlin looked around in alarm, stunned that he was the only one in the room to worry about the boy's sudden disappearance. He wasn't too fond of the kid, who was creepy and far quieter than a healthy, sane boy his age should be, but Mordred's vanishing was still cause for some concern.

"I'll find him," he offered, dying for a chance to leave the room. Arthur glared at him, clearly wishing he'd thought of it himself. Merlin slipped out before desperation drove Arthur to volunteer as well.

The boy was impossible to track down. Merlin soon gave up and recruited several of the firm's paralegals to help him, and almost half an hour passed before he found Mordred on the roof, squatting in a corner, nearly invisible in his gray overcoat under the cold drizzle.

Merlin frowned at the sky and drove the rain clouds away.

"That's _really cool_," said Mordred, jumping to his feet, and Merlin realized that he'd never before heard the boy say a word other than the formal greeting Sophia had forced him to perform. "Can you do that again, Mr. Emrys?"

"Do what again, kid?"

"Play with the clouds."

Faking obliviousness was usually the easiest way to get out of situations like this. Merlin laughed. "Come on, don't be silly. Let's go back; your parents are worried about you."

"They're not. I don't mind." The boy's shoulders slumped at that; Merlin could spot the miserable my-parents-are-getting-divorced look from miles away.

"Hey," he said reassuringly, patting his arm. "It's not your fault."

"I know that!" Mordred met his gaze, offended. He swallowed his anger and repeated, "Please, Mr. Emrys, can I see you play with the clouds again?"

"The rain stopped of its own accord, Mordred. I can't play with clouds any more than you can. It would be nice to be able to do that, though."

"You're lying." That seemed to amuse the kid, and Merlin was getting more freaked out by the second. "You don't even like your power. I like it, though. It's flashy."

He stared at the boy, who pulled his overcoat closer and shivered.

"I'm a telepath." Mordred shrugged. "Mother doesn't want me telling people, but I knew you'd like to know. That's why I waited for you up here."

For a moment, Merlin was consumed with envy. Telepathy—now that was a _proper_ superpower, the sort that good people could do great things with.

"I prefer yours," the boy replied, even though Merlin had said nothing. "I hear a lot of things people wouldn't want me to know. Sometimes I wish I could make it go away."

It was only then that Merlin realized the hellish experience Mordred was going through: he had a front-row seat to his parents' failed marriage, and he heard every single gnarled, dark thought that went through the disgruntled couple's heads. His stomach clenched; he would've hugged the kid if he could.

He glanced upwards, and made the clouds swirl. Mordred smiled, delighted, and asked him to make animal shapes. Merlin complied to the best of his ability—drawing had never been his forte—and felt a little better after seeing Mordred laugh for what was probably the first time in months.

They played with the weather for fifteen minutes or so before Merlin remembered the Muirdens were waiting downstairs.

Mordred agreed to leave as soon as he mentioned it. Listening to everyone's darkest secrets had forced the kid grow old beyond his years; there was a quiet, resigned hopelessness about him that only maturity could bring. Merlin was suddenly glad that his superpower had never affected him so deeply.

"It's not that bad," Mordred insisted as they made their way back to the office.

Merlin felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry about it. I got used to listening in on people's worries about me years ago. It's amusing."

"What do your parents think of your ability?"

"They have abilities of their own," Mordred said, offering no further information. Merlin chose not to pry, knowing the boy would reveal nothing more.

This new piece of information put some things in perspective, though. Merlin had no idea what the Muirdens' superpowers were—what if they were violent? What if they resorted to desperate measures to keep the casino? Had Mrs. Muirden told Arthur about her ability?

"No," the kid replied at once, and Merlin, before he could help himself, pondered that it was probably a nightmare to bring up a child like this. Mordred chuckled. "They got used to it."

"I bet you're quite the handful," he teased.

"Sometimes." Mordred then looked up, and said out of nowhere, "He does think about you a lot, you know."

Merlin didn't need to ask whom he was referring to. "I wasn't even thinking about him!" he protested instead.

"No." Mordred smirked, pushing open the door to Merlin's office. "But you were going to."

**

Days later, Merlin paced around his office, seething. "'I strenuously object?' Is that how it works?" he ranted. "'Objection.' 'Overruled.' 'Oh, no, no, I _strenuously_ object.' 'Oh, well, if you _strenuously_ object then I should take some time to reconsider.' What does he expect to accomplish? The man's a _buffoon_."

Morgana was, of course, laughing at his expense. "But Merlin, you have to admire his nerve!"

"You should've seen him, Morgana. He's completely out of control—and taking me down with him. In the end, the one with the most outrageous theatrics wins the case, not the one with the best arguments. How screwed up is that?"

"You know what they say," she shrugged. "If you want justice, go to a whorehouse. If you want to get fucked, go to court."

He rolled his eyes. "That's from _Primal Fear_. You're enjoying doing the relentless lawyer-movie-quoting thing, aren't you?"

"I am. I've never had this much cause to mock you for courtroom shenanigans!"

"I'm glad you my misery entertains you. Really, I am."

"Well, I'm _sorry_."

"No, you're not."

She grinned. "I'm really not. I'm loving this so much, you have no idea."

"Morgana, there are a lot of judges who _scowl_ when they see we're the ones handling the case. Arthur Pendragon is single-handedly destroying my career."

"It's hardly single-handedly!" she scoffed. "I know you, Merlin Emrys, and I know you're loving every minute of this. You know what else they say? 'When you start coming with the customers, it's time to get out of the business.'"

He sighed, recognizing the quote but unable to place it. It wasn't too hard to distract Morgana, though. "Yeah, yeah, I know. 'This is me at my most masochistic.'"

"That's _Kill Bill_," she pointed out at once. "Hypocrite."

**

Edwin and Sophia were unable to reach an agreement over the casino issue, which drove Merlin and Arthur to court. Judge Tauren forbade the Muirdens from setting foot in the casinos until the case was closed, and ordered their attorneys to visit the main establishment and interview key staff members in order to determine which spouse should remain in charge.

Merlin wasn't at all put off by the prospect of a weekend in Vegas with all expenses paid; even Arthur's presence wasn't much of a deterrent. They kept busy, and spent two days questioning casino employees on the Muirdens' habits and managerial skills.

Everyone seemed to be equal parts terrified and in awe of both Edwin and Sophia. Merlin went over his questionnaire that night in his room, wondering if there were any questions he could spin in Edwin's favor. After pondering the issue for an hour on Sunday night with no productive ideas, he gave up for the time being and decided to visit the casino floor.

The Muirdens had given Arthur and Merlin $25,000 credit against the casino for the weekend. Given the place's motto, this seemed like a terrible business move, but Merlin had long since given up on understanding the couple's management rationale. No one could wrap their minds around it but the Muirdens themselves—and, if nothing else, this alone seemed like enough reason for them to give their marriage another try.

Nevertheless, Merlin would go bankrupt if he went into the marriage counseling business; he shrugged off his befuddlement and focused on the spinning roulette in front of him. It was the only game of chance Merlin could cheat at—a light breeze at the right time made sure he won every time. Alcohol would've dulled his reflexes, of course, which was why he was only drinking Club Soda.

Off the corner of his eye, he could see Arthur playing blackjack and drinking whiskey. Merlin couldn't help glancing at him every few minutes, anticipating the rest of the evening despite himself. He wasn't sure whether anything would happen, but on the off chance that it did, he had to prepare his excuses for inappropriate behavior in advance.

He was about to order a gin and tonic when Arthur approached a woman standing at a craps table next to Merlin's roulette. His first bet was successful; she smiled, he leaned closer to her, and Merlin was torn between disappointment and an inexplicably strong bout of jealousy.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

"I'm a married woman," she warned Arthur, who seemed unperturbed. He had every divorce lawyer's contempt for the so-called sanctity of marriage.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I'm not looking for company."

"In that case, you would've said, 'I'm a _happily_ married woman.'" Her stance belied her statement—she still hadn't moved away from him. Arthur hadn't missed this. "Can I buy you a drink, then?"

She grinned, amused. "I told you—I've got a husband."

Arthur grew even cockier. "I can buy him one, too."

"Ah." She feigned disappointment. "He's out of town."

Merlin couldn't understand Arthur's flirting mood. Okay, so maybe it was a little unreasonable to expect something from the man, given that they hadn't had an amicable conversation in months. In fact, Merlin wasn't even sure they had _ever_ had one.

He paused to consider this, analyzing his own behavior in shock. Heavens, he was an _idiot_. Of course nothing was going to happen—why would it? Neither party had signaled interest, and their previous foray had been disastrous.

He stood up and, deciding not to wait for the roulette's results, made his way to the elevator.

"21, red," the croupier called out—Merlin had won without even cheating. "Sir? Sir!"

"I'll get him," Arthur said, and a second later, he grabbed Merlin's arm. "You won, idiot. Go get your chips."

"You weren't even at my table," he protested, irrationally pleased that Arthur had been paying attention. Merlin ended up being dragged back to the roulette, where he collected his winnings and left the croupier a large tip to make up for holding up her table.

"Come on, Emrys, let's go get a drink," Arthur ordered—really, he didn't even try to make it sound like a question, and maybe that was good, since it spared Merlin the trouble of coming up with a reason not to say no.

**

"Nngh," said Merlin upon waking from the deep, deathlike sleep of the profoundly inebriated.

The friction of soft sheets against his back smarted in a telling way; he rolled his shoulder to experiment and verified that yes, his back was in all likelihood covered with angry red lines. A patch of skin under his left ear was throbbing; Merlin suspected he would sport an embarrassing bite mark there for at least a day. He was certain that he had pulled an inner thigh muscle, and possibly his neck muscles as well.

The bed's other occupant pulled him closer with a grunt, and Merlin allowed himself to be manhandled, shifting his face just enough so he could rest his forehead on the crook of Arthur's neck.

Yes, they had both drunk far too much the previous night, but Merlin had gone through the whole denial-slash-blaming-the-alcohol routine the _first_ time they'd ended up in bed together. He still didn't like Arthur much, but the man _was_ attractive, and there was no point denying that; Merlin knew exactly how they'd ended up here.

He remembered flirting with Arthur shortly after drinking the first sip the night before. Hell, he had almost started a fistfight because some random guy—who, in hindsight, had been a far more handsome prospect than Merlin himself—had given Arthur a lewd grin. His recollections of the actual sex part were fuzzier because, as usual, they had spent hours circling each other (while drinking a _lot_) before letting the obvious happen.

A one-night-stand could be easily interpreted as a mistake, but Merlin had gone back for seconds—and months after the first time, too. This meant something, but he didn't want to give it much thought just yet. There could be no harm in getting a few more hours' sleep; plus, Arthur was pretty damn comfortable.

He snuggled closer and tried to clear his mind. Arthur stroked his back, his open palm amazingly warm and soothing in spite (and okay, maybe also _because_) of the bruises, and Merlin almost managed to bite back a small smile.

There was something slightly off, however—a tiny cold point of contact on Arthur's hand—since when did Arthur wear rings?

Merlin tensed as memories began to flood his mind, unwanted and unbidden.

He opened his eyes and stared at his left hand, focusing on the cheap, clearly gift-shop-bought golden ring that had somehow found its way onto his fourth finger. It was, without a doubt, identical to the one Arthur was now wearing.

Merlin swallowed hard and tried not to panic too much.

"Oh, God," he yelped, as the magnitude of what had happened started to sink in. He sat up and poked Arthur's ribs. "Arthur! What the hell? We got _married_?"

Everything then started flooding back in stilted, weirdly unfamiliar flashes—it felt as though the entire night had happened to someone else.

He and Arthur, while drinking, had debated old clients' worst mistakes and failed marriages. They'd ended up deciding that, barring the abolition of marriage itself, arranged marriages were the best system for all involved. A couple's success rate, after all, was mostly unaffected by how in love they had once been; a marriage's non-failure depended more on the spouses' resignation and sense of duty than on their feelings for each other. Having no romantic feelings from the get-go would soften the blow when everything inevitably fell apart.

Merlin's brain, now sober, could not quite follow the leap from 'a marriage between two people who hate each other may not be doomed to fail' to 'hey, wouldn't it be hilarious if we got married?' but alcohol-fuelled logic was notoriously incomprehensible.

Arthur rubbed his eyes and, after forcing them to open, glanced sleepily at his left hand. "Oh, wow," he said, which seemed like the understatement of the century.

"You're not panicking," Merlin noted, and Arthur stared at him, uncomprehending. "Why are you not panicking?"

"'M sleepy," Arthur said with an expansive yawn and turned to lie on his side. "Can we go over this later?"

"Do you not realize how absurd—"

"Merlin, I'm tired and still a little drunk. Considering the killer hangover I'm going to wake up with, I'd say being married to you will be the least of my problems."

"But listen—"

"No," Arthur growled. "Let me sleep on it, _honey._"

He promptly fell asleep; Merlin's ineffectual scowl made the whole scene seem even more domestic. He groaned in horror and leapt out of bed.

**

After getting dressed, Merlin grabbed first cell phone he saw on the nightstand and ran to the bathroom, locking himself inside. Thankfully, Morgana picked up after one ring.

"Arthur?"

"No, no! It's me!" he whispered, looking around the bathroom and trying to find the spot from where his voice was least likely to carry through the door. He chose the shower stall and climbed inside; after sitting on the floor, he realized it was wet and jumped up, swearing.

Merlin tried sitting on the sink next, and had a vivid flashback of being there at some point during the night before, his legs wrapped around Arthur—his bloody _wedding night_. Oh, God, this had to be some kind of bad prank the universe was playing on him.

"Nice of you to call, _Merlin_," Morgana said, her tone reproachful. "It's not like those _seventeen missed calls_ yesterday made me so curious I almost boarded the first flight to Vegas or anything. Why didn't you pick up when I called you back?"

"I'm sorry, okay? I don't even know where my phone is. I was so drunk; you have no idea."

"Of course you were." Her eye-roll was almost audible. "You had inadvisable drunken sex with Arthur, I take it?"

"That's not it! Er. Well, yes, I did, but—wait, how did you—"

She scoffed. "You called from his phone, genius. Also, it was all kinds of obvious. Lance and I even bet on it; your hooking up with him last night instead of Friday cost me three hundred bucks."

"You bet on it? Come on, Morgana, what kind of friend are you?"

"The kind who's not _blind_. What did you expect?" she snorted. "A 'don't have sex, because you'll get _pregnant_ and _die_' speech? Come on! You were desperate to sleep with the guy—don't deny it, you know it's true—and you did. Why is that so bad?"

"Well, no, it's not—that part is definitely not the issue. The thing is..." He hesitated, unwilling to say it.

"The thing is...?"

He scratched his head, embarrassed. "The thing is, I—well, I'm not exactly sure how, well, I do know how, just not _why_, but we sort of, er...got married. Somehow. I think there was an Elvis, and I'm pretty sure he wore a kilt—Arthur, that is, not Elvis. I'm fuzzy on the details; it's still coming back to me. I may be suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder, see. Maybe I won't remember. Well, I kind of hope I don't."

Halfway through his rambling, Morgana let out a high-pitched squeak that could mean either fury or excitement. Merlin wasn't sure which possibility frightened him more.

"Oh my _God_." She was laughing so hard it was difficult to get to words out—excited it was, then. "Oh my God, that is _brilliant_. It's the best thing I've heard all year! Merlin, you total idiot, did you even sign a prenup?"

"Did you hear the part where I was _completely shitfaced_?"

"So you got married. To a divorce attorney. Without a prenup. _You._"

Merlin pulled his own hair in frustration. "I got married to _Arthur Pendragon_ without a prenup, God, get some perspective!"

"Oh, come on, that's secondary! Look at it this way: Arthur's the only person you've been with all year, so really, if you had to get married under duress for any reason, he would be the logical choice. Also, you're clearly crazy about the guy." She cackled. "No prenup! Oh, Merlin, you've always been so dead set against marriage—I should've guessed you'd end up tying the knot on a whim! Damn it, I should've gone to Vegas with you!"

Merlin could just picture her leaning back on her chair, stilettos crossed over her desk and stroking a malevolent poodle, like every _femme fatale_ villain to ever exist. Morgana, he decided, was evil and most certainly not the person to call after a drunken screw-up.

"In what kind of universe is _Arthur_ my only logical choice for a husband?"

"Wait a minute, Elvis was your witness?" she belatedly realized, reviewing Merlin's earlier statement. "_Elvis_? Why didn't you—oh, was that why you called me? That is so sweet! Why didn't you say so? I would've got on the next flight out! I would've called Donald for his jet!"

"Again," Merlin said through gritted teeth. "Completely shitfaced."

"Oh, please, Merlin. We're long past the age where we actually believe drunk people do things they really don't want to. 'There's a moment, there's always a moment—'"

"That's from _Closer_," he said absently, more out of instinct and habit than actual willingness to indulge her. "Also, I swear to _God_ I didn't want to get married to Arthur Pendragon! What are you on about?"

"Well, okay." She thought for a moment, and added gleefully, "I bet you just wanted him to make an honest man out of you before you put out again."

"You really are a deeply horrible human being," Merlin stated before hanging up on her.

**

Arthur was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, when Merlin left the bathroom. He was looking out the window, his head tilted to the left, and seemed lost in thought.

"Do you remember why we did it?"

"Not really, everything's still fuzzy. Do you?"

"A bit, yeah," he chuckled, presumably thinking of one of the many ways Merlin had made an idiot of himself while drunk. "It was quite a night. It was—nice. Surreal, but nice."

Merlin wasn't sure whether to be offended, but he'd obviously managed to confront Arthur early enough that the man's brain-to-mouth filter was not yet completely on. _Nice_. The adjective was brutal—at once dismissive and belittling—and Merlin felt completely demeaned.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Merlin spat. "I'm sorry you didn't manage to score with the girl who was playing craps because of me, and I'm sorry I was an ass to that gorgeous guy in the bar who would've been way better in bed and less likely to wake up _married_ to you the following morning. Really, I am! But I didn't do it on purpose, and I have no idea what could've persuaded me to marry you, so can you _please_ stop patronizing me for a second and talk about this rationally? Is politeness that much to ask for?"

Arthur watched his diatribe in open-mouthed bewilderment. He mulled over the rant, and then said, "Huh?"

Merlin clenched his fists and tried to swallow his anger. "We have no time to get an annulment here," he pointed out. "My plane leaves soon, and we have to be in court at three PM. We'll just have to get this done in New York."

"Okay." Arthur shrugged after a moment. "It's not a big deal."

"Yeah."

Arthur was staring at him with a weird look on his face. Merlin was almost shaking with anger—why did Arthur insist on making light of him at every opportunity? Why did he take such pride in destabilizing Merlin and destroying his self-confidence? Why was Merlin still chasing after him after all this time, when Arthur had made it perfectly clear that no good would come of their association?

Merlin scowled. "I hate you so much right now."

Arthur frowned, caught off-guard again, and then shook his head, standing up. "I wouldn't want to interrupt the heated argument you're having with your brain right now, Merlin," he said, and Merlin narrowed his eyes even more. "I think this three-way conversation isn't actually working very well. I'm going to go take a shower." After a beat, he added, "You can join me, if you like."

"Oh, thank you for your _permission_," Merlin muttered, fetching his shoes. "Very kind of you, really."

He left the room, banging the door on his way out.

**

Merlin didn't see Arthur again until they were both at baggage claim in JFK. After a few minutes of awkward will-he-or-won't-he silent contemplation, Arthur approached him, holding out his cell phone.

Noticing that his suitcase was about to arrive, Merlin glowered at Arthur. For once, Arthur actually understood the cause of his annoyance and signaled that he'd fetch it while Merlin talked on the phone. It was Lance.

"Hey, Lance," he said. "Hang on a sec."

Arthur had arrived with the luggage, and Merlin tried to find hands to hold the phone, his briefcase, his coat, and the suitcase.

Arthur rolled his eyes, grabbed the coat, and tied it to the suitcase. "Just keep walking; I'll take these."

"No, really, you don't have to—"

"Relax, Merlin. The guy's been trying to track you down all day. I don't mind; we're both taking cabs anyway, right?"

"Yeah."

"Jesus, Morgana wasn't kidding," Lance, who hadn't missed a word of the exchange, said over the phone. "You guys really are married, then?"

"I should've known she'd spread the word," Merlin sighed. "But yeah, it's true."

"I always knew you had it in you, Merlin!"

"We were _drunk_ in _Vegas_," he groaned. "It doesn't _count_. I still hate marriage!"

If Arthur hadn't been sure they were discussing the wedding, he was now. He threw a sideways grin at Merlin, who shrugged.

"On the contrary, Mr. Emrys, I believe you'll find that it very much does count. I hope you're not planning on getting it annulled any time soon, by the way. The citizens of New York will be devastated."

"What?"

"They're running a piece on your marriage in _The New Yorker_." Lance's cheerful sadism was a dead giveaway that the man had been spending more time around Morgana than any sane person should. "I just gave them a quote and everything."

Merlin stopped walking abruptly, and Arthur almost walked into him. "_The New Yorker_?" he mumbled, his voice small and terrified.

"Yep. Two upstanding members of New York's legal circles tying the knot—the gay community is thrilled!" Lance laughed. "Your mother called Morgana when she heard, too. She's sad you haven't introduced her to the man yet—I find it adorable that she set up Google Alerts for your name, by the way."

"This must be what going mad feels like," Merlin whimpered. "Oh, God. I'm going to kill you two."

Lance prattled on, unperturbed. "Also, Morgana said your boss has sent a couple of firm-wide emails asking people to find you and have you contact him. What happened to your cell anyway?"

Merlin was literally shaking with panic. Before he could catch himself, he reached for Arthur and pulled him closer, burying his head in Arthur's chest. Thankfully, the man offered no resistance; he absent-mindedly stroked Merlin's hair while waiting for an explanation.

"You've _ruined my life_." Arthur stiffened, assuming out of habit that the sentence referred to him. "No, not you," Merlin added, looking up with a sad smile. "Not _just_ you, at least. Lance, what the hell? What am I supposed to do now?"

"Why, I think you should discuss that with your _husband_."

Lance was giggling like a little girl. Merlin didn't hesitate to inform him of that.

"Oh, come on, Merlin, you know you'd be mocking me to death if our roles were reversed."

"_No_, I wouldn't. I'm actually a decent person, you see," Merlin pointed out. "Unlike the two of you. With friends like you—"

"Stop whining to me and go form a plan of action with Arthur," Lance interrupted. "We'll talk later. Buy a cell phone if you don't stick around Pendragon all day." He paused, a new thought having just occurred to him. "Oh, are you taking his surname? Merlin Pendragon? It does have a bit of a ring to it."

"I'm hanging up on you now," Merlin happily announced, and did so. He stepped away from Arthur and took a deep breath. "You're not going to believe what happened."

"You said something about _The New Yorker_."

"They're running a story about us; it's already online."

Arthur whistled. "Wow. Morgana?"

"Yeah. Even my mother's heard about it. I don't know what to do." Merlin hung his shoulders and looked down, despondent. For some reason, Hunith's knowledge of the whole situation made everything much worse.

She was without a doubt expecting the world of Arthur—she'd always dreamt of Merlin finding a nice girl (or guy), regardless of his protests against the idea of marriage. He couldn't disappoint her; she didn't even know he drank! She would be devastated if she heard her baby had married someone on a drunken whim.

Also, Merlin's social standing was at stake. He and Arthur would become the laughingstock of the city's legal community if everyone knew they'd gotten married by mistake.

Arthur was considering their predicament as well. "Well, we obviously—"

"Yeah, you're right." Arthur raised his eyebrows, but Merlin didn't notice. "We can't tell anyone we didn't mean this."

"Oh?"

"We'll lose everyone's respect—we'll jeopardize our careers. We have to pretend we meant it."

Arthur nodded slowly.

"We'll have to inform our clients and check whether they'll require new representation."

"I strongly doubt that. They knew what they were getting into when they hired the two of us—we have a bad enough reputation together as it is. I don't think being married will change much."

"Right." Merlin shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Hey, you'll have to be nicer. No one will buy it if you continue mocking me at every possible opportunity."

"It's just the way I am, Merlin. What, do you think I get off on making you miserable?" He paused and considered it. "Well, maybe I do, a little, but I'm not worse with you than I am with anyone else—not _much_ worse, anyhow."

"You can try being just a little kinder."

"Okay. I can do that."

"How do you want to do this, then?"

Arthur grinned broadly. "Well, how badly do you want to sell it?"

**

Merlin would need to pretend he was deeply in love with Arthur in order to keep his job—Mr. Gaius was furious. He gave Merlin a three-hour lecture on work ethics and responsibility to his clients, and made it clear that if anyone were to fire Merlin because of these shenanigans, he would have to compensate the firm.

Morgana and Lance were delighted. They had yet to grow tired of pointing out just how amusing the idea of Merlin as a homemaker was. Their supply of marriage-related jokes seemed endless, but Merlin only had himself to blame for that one—as a divorce attorney, he'd passed on thousands of those over the years.

It hadn't been explicitly decided that Arthur would move in with Merlin, but that was pretty much what had happened. Determined as they were to spend as much time as possible in public together, they ended up selecting Merlin's apartment as the best place to use as headquarters, and Arthur spent more time there than at his place.

It started out slowly. Merlin gave Arthur a drawer as a gesture of convenience. At some point, they bought real wedding rings to make the ruse more convincing; it was a bit awkward, but wearing them soon became second nature. After they got in the habit of grocery shopping together—Merlin's kitchen was no longer filled with supplies Arthur didn't like—and Arthur brought over his Law books, his video games, and his DVDs, the pretense got almost too easy to sell.

As it turned out, sharing an apartment with Arthur wasn't nearly as dreadful as Merlin thought it would be. Sure, he was a bit disorganized, and yes, his taste in movies and series could stand to be improved upon; but, some minor disagreements notwithstanding, their interaction had never been so peaceful.

They hosted a dinner for Merlin's colleagues two weeks after the wedding—Morgana wasn't invited—and it was an unqualified success; people began conspiring to get Arthur a job at the firm.

It was almost like having a roommate—one who always forgot to do the dishes and to pick up the laundry, but who was not unpleasant company to have during pre-trial cramming all-nighters. Merlin figured Arthur was making an effort not to be obnoxious; they both valued their careers enough to try to make this bearable.

They hadn't had sex since Vegas, though. Merlin knew the subject would come up at some point, but it took Arthur three weeks.

They were watching _Bad Education_, lying on opposite sides of the living room sofa and sharing a blanket. When the umpteenth sex scene took place, Arthur groaned.

Merlin froze. "What?" he asked, unsure of how he would react to the question that would inevitably follow.

"Nothing," Arthur shrugged, rearranging the pillow he was lying on and turning on his side. After a few minutes, he said, "Are we ever going to talk about this?"

"Talk about what?"

Arthur threw him a look.

Merlin made up his mind. "You can do whatever you want," he said. "I won't mind. Our current situation is temporary, and it's not even real. I know that; I'm not an idiot. I'm not going to freak out on you or anything."

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

He couldn't pretend he didn't understand the underlying question. The prospect was appealing—hell, it had never been more appealing—but Merlin knew complicating their relationship would only make pretending more difficult. It was hard enough as it was; the domesticity was getting to him, making him see _feelings_ that weren't supposed to be there. He smiled and nodded when Arthur used nonexistent words to earn more points in Scrabble; he no longer complained about the man's chronic inability to leave his shoes anywhere other than the middle of the hallway. Yes, it was better to distance himself from this horrid non-relationship limbo as soon as possible. Seeing Arthur with someone else would be a timely wake-up call.

Merlin forced himself to meet Arthur's gaze with a smile. "Yeah."

"Okay, then. If you're sure." Arthur seemed disappointed—but no, Merlin's damned brain was probably reading too much into things again.

"I am."

"All right."

"Do you want to go back to _Battlestar Galactica_? We can do that."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "No, Merlin. I think I can manage to watch gay sex without jumping you."

Merlin wasn't disappointed. Really, he wasn't. "Glad to hear it," he replied.

**

To the best of Merlin's knowledge, Arthur didn't exercise his prerogative to find someone else; if anything, he spent even more time in the apartment, trying his best to work off his growing frustration in creative ways.

For one, he rescued Merlin's old Wii from the dusty cabinet of underused gadgets and took up fencing. Also, he started showing an interest in the few cases Merlin had in which Arthur was not his opponent.

Merlin reckoned this was his way of being polite and avoiding domestic conflict, but it ended up feeding his paranoia even more. Why was Arthur doing this? Why was he being _nice_? Even their courtroom altercations lacked bite; they had fun insulting each other, and it showed. It was hard to be relentlessly desperate to win when one was exchanging texts like, '_Italian or Chinese for dinner?_' with one's opponent. Their theatrics were less over-the-top nowadays, too, and the city's judges were grateful.

"Why don't you just start the divorce proceedings anyway?" he asked, poring over Merlin and Lance's meticulous research of the Griffin Inc. case. "You can nail the guy for adultery and get that out of the way."

"We're waiting to see if Mrs. Afanc overhears anything else that we can use."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Sneaky—and slightly illegal."

"She doesn't mind; it's for a good cause."

"I bet Lance loves that," Arthur said, not without malice. "Self-sacrifice for the cause must be right up his alley."

Merlin rolled his eyes, noting the customary possessive undercurrent that Arthur's voice took on whenever Lance was mentioned. "I think he likes her," he said lightly, hoping this would convince him to give up. "Gwen, that is—but she'll never cheat on her husband, lying scumbag or no. It's another reason I'm not eager to get the divorce going. Mr. Afanc is not above making a mess of things and bringing their affair into play during the civil action."

"You really care about this factory leak thing."

Merlin nodded.

"Well, then, you should probably—"

The phone rang, and Arthur fell silent. It was Hunith, and Merlin felt a familiar guilt pang for not having introduced his mother to Arthur yet. His guilt was short-lived, however; Hunith had phoned to announce she was on her way with Tristan, and would arrive within the hour. Merlin hung up the phone in a mild state of panic.

"My mother and my stepfather are coming here," he said, running his hand through his hair. "Okay. We need to find a way of getting you out of the apartment before you run into them downstairs."

Arthur grinned. "I will have to meet them eventually, you realize."

"My mother, sure, but Tristan? He's a creep, Arthur; you'll hate him! He's a damn homophobe—we never got along, he's always glaring at me whenever I do anything he thinks isn't _straight enough_. Mom's talked him down a bunch of times because of that, but it never works; he always comes back with a vengeance. Let me handle him—I'll figure something out."

"I'm a lawyer! Sifting through bullshit and enduring annoying creeps is practically in the job description—hell, it _is_ the job description. Stop worrying so much."

Merlin cringed. "Arthur, _please_. You don't know what you're getting into; you can meet my mother any other day."

"You've been putting this off for long enough. Just give me some pointers, tell me what I should and shouldn't mention, and we'll be fine."

"You're too nice," Merlin said, desperately grateful. "I never thought I'd say this, but you really are too nice."

"I am," Arthur agreed, grinning. "Now, what should I do?"

"As long as you don't mention how drunk we were at the time of the wedding, we'll be fine. Don't judge my mother too harshly by her choice of husband—she claims he's somehow loyal and endearing behind that damned zombie face of his. I don't get it, but then again, I've obviously inherited her taste and good judgment in men," he teased good-naturedly.

Arthur grimaced, acknowledging the jab. "Zombie face, really?"

"You'll see what I mean."

**

Hunith's surprise visits were always prefaced by a frantic last-minute cleaning of the entire house, in which Merlin made the apartment look so tidy no one seemed to live there. This time, it also entailed making it look like Arthur shared a room with Merlin—which wasn't difficult, all things considered, especially because they did share the main bathroom.

Merlin's work files were unceremoniously dumped into various drawers, despite Arthur's complaints that it would be impossible to sort them out later. As the son of an absent father and a dead mother, he had clearly never had to face the terror of a scrutinizing mother's visit.

"Did you hide the Wii?" Merlin asked for the third time, plopping down on the sofa and fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"I did."

"_Six Feet Under_ and _True Blood_ too? Mom thinks anything Alan Ball makes is just porn."

"Yes, yes."

"The junk food's in the oven; the alcohol's in the back of the linen closet; the windows are all open; the plants are watered; the painting she gave me for Christmas is on the wall; your bed is made; and the room is emptied," he said, ticking off his fingers. "Have I forgotten anything?"

Arthur smiled warmly, and Merlin could only hope his excessive anxiety was coming off as endearing instead of crazed. "You worry too much," he said, sliding closer and wrapping an arm around Merlin's shoulders. "Relax for a second, will you? Come here."

Visitors were about to arrive—their unspoken agreement dictated that superfluous touching was allowed. Merlin secretly delighted in these few minutes they spent acclimating to the pretense; he lowered his defenses a little and lied to himself, pretending this was acceptable and real even if nothing else was.

He rested his chin on Arthur's collarbone and took a deep breath, nuzzling his neck for comfort. Arthur's hand made its way to his hip and pulled him closer; Merlin ended up sprawled on his lap, clinging tightly to his shirt.

Merlin pretended to fidget and adjust his position a few times, enjoying the slow friction. A distant part of his brain noted that he was wrinkling Arthur's shirt, but he didn't care. At some point their proximity had stopped being about reassurance and had begun to signal something else altogether.

When Arthur tilted his head to the side and kissed him, Merlin happily complied, pressing his hips down to grind against Arthur's. It had been less than a month since the last time they'd had sex, but it seemed much longer—and right now, it was difficult to understand why they'd been denying themselves for so long. Their hands' movements became frantic; Arthur's skin felt impossibly warm under his fingers, and Merlin took off his own shirt, longing for more contact.

"Jesus Christ," Arthur moaned, reaching down blindly to open Merlin's jeans. "You fucking _tease_."

Merlin said nothing as he unbuttoned Arthur's shirt, terrified that if they actually talked, they would stop and remember why doing this was a bad idea. Merlin licked his way down Arthur's chest and stomach, sliding down the sofa onto the floor and kneeling.

"You're mental," Arthur said through gritted teeth when Merlin lowered his jeans and boxers. "I can't believe—"

Merlin licked his lips and closed his mouth around the head, his tongue curling teasingly under it, which shut Arthur up at once. Merlin was aware of the need to hurry; after lapping at the cock's full length a few times, he used his hand to speed things along, keeping his eyes fixed on Arthur's face. This felt different, somehow, and it had to count for _something_; he just didn't know what.

After a minute or two, Arthur's hips arched upwards in spasms, and he clenched his fist in Merlin's hair, trying to bite back a groan. Merlin swallowed messily; he would've made a mental note to tease Arthur about how long he'd lasted if he weren't sure the same would have happened to him had their roles been reversed. He'd been waiting for this for far too long.

Using the hand still clutching Merlin's hair, Arthur pulled him up and kissed him, disregarding the sharp taste of spunk on Merlin's tongue. "Insane," Arthur breathed, brushing his lips against Merlin's cheek, neck, and shoulder. "_Insane_," he repeated, grabbing Merlin's cock and jerking him off swiftly.

Merlin came with a whimper, his sweaty forehead buried in the crook of Arthur's neck. His tense body crumpled and wrapped itself bonelessly around Arthur's once more.

"Well," Arthur said, surveying the mess they'd made of the sofa and their rumpled clothing, "we're definitely not presentable anymore."

Merlin followed Arthur's gaze and laughed. His mind hummed happily with possessiveness and contentment; he couldn't bring himself to feel nervous about anything right now. He kissed Arthur, lazy and confident, and would have forgotten all about Hunith's impending arrival if she hadn't rung the doorbell at that precise moment.

"Shit," he yelped, jumping up. Arthur ran to the bathroom to clean himself up, getting his pants back on as he walked; Merlin brought rain to drench the couch's pillows and blow-dried them with a gust of hot wind. He followed Arthur into the bathroom to wash his hands, hoping the sofa's mysterious neatness would go unnoticed.

Arthur changed into the first clean shirt he saw—which turned out to be Merlin's '_It's only a model!_' t-shirt—while Merlin hurried to open the door.

"Hey, Mom," he said, breathless. "Tristan."

"Hello, Merlin," nodded his stepfather.

Hunith grinned brightly at him. "You have sperm on your chin, dear," she said by way of greeting, and entered the apartment.

Merlin cringed; Arthur, who had just stepped into the room, froze.

"You're my son-in-law, then!" she said happily. "I did see pictures of you online, but you're far prettier in person. Isn't he a handsome one, Tristan?"

Tristan nodded curtly and sat on the sofa. He was ostensibly outnumbered, and would probably be gruff and quiet for the rest of the afternoon—which suited everyone present just fine.

"And don't worry about the sex thing, love," Hunith continued with a benevolent smile. "I've known Merlin's I-just-had-an-orgasm face ever since Will first spent the summer holidays at our house. It's really quite characteristic; the poor boy can't help being obvious about it."

Arthur chortled. "He really can't."

Merlin stared at the two of them, incredulous that they were bonding over _mocking him_. He made a face at Arthur, who winked and walked over to him, sliding his arm around Merlin's waist. Tristan winced; Arthur glowered at him, and pulled Merlin even closer.

"_And as they say, it's in your DNA: you're gay!_" he hummed in Merlin's ear; it was hard not to burst out laughing.

Merlin had no idea whether much would change after today—he didn't even know if he wanted it to—but he was thankful that even his own mother was buying their ruse. He had to admit that, given the circumstances, it really was pretty damn believable.

**

Merlin hadn't expected his interaction with Arthur to change dramatically after Hunith's visit, but he was dismayed to see them fall back into their previous pattern.

He didn't feel at ease enough to be affectionate, and Arthur didn't give him an opening to do so; they limited themselves to touching only when others were nearby. Merlin eventually managed to convince himself that they were better off this way.

Merlin got a horrible client soon after that—Ann Hora, a temperamental My Little Pony designer with a sadistic streak to rival Arthur's. Her soon-to-be ex-husband Drake hired Arthur, claiming that he'd inspired most of her creations over the course of their marriage. Much to their irritation, the couple made Arthur and Merlin jump through all sorts of hoops to prove that they were still able to litigate against each other regardless of their current relationship.

As it turned out, the hoop-jumping was in vain; the Horas ended up settling. Arthur and Merlin took Morgana and Lance out to lunch to celebrate: it was their first settlement in the ten months since they'd met.

"But you're divorce lawyers!" Lance said, when they explained the reason for celebration. "How come you don't settle?"

"Habit." Merlin shrugged.

"He's stubborn," Arthur clarified. "And I'm competitive."

"That just about covers it." Morgana smiled. "Made for each other, clearly."

Merlin rolled his eyes, groaning. "Not you, too."

"Stop trying to fight it, honey," Arthur rejoined with a smirk, and Merlin laughed. They didn't have to bother pretending near these two, but it was fun to do so, as Lance and Morgana enjoyed seeing the persona they played to everyone else. In the first few weeks, they'd offered critiques and suggestions; now, they limited themselves to watching with amusement.

Morgana said at one point that they looked more natural while pretending than they did when keeping a polite distance from each other. Merlin, who was beginning to think his face was entirely too expressive, blamed himself entirely for her misconception. However, there was little he could do to convince her otherwise.

Lance caught sight of someone near the door, waved him over and said, "Merlin, I have a surprise for you! You mentioned you knew William Smithson, and I'd arranged to meet him for lunch today, so I asked him to come over and join us."

Merlin stilled. Arthur glanced at him with obvious concern, and asked in an undertone, "Is this summer-holidays-at-your-mother's Will?"

He nodded. "Lance, did you tell him I'd be here?"

"No, I thought I'd surprise him, too. Why, will that be a—"

At that moment, Will arrived at their table, wearing jeans and a battered shirt. He hadn't changed a bit. "_Merlin_? What the _hell_?"

"Er. H—Hey, Will," he greeted tentatively.

Will turned to Lance, furious. "What's he doing here?"

"Remember the Afanc case?" Lance said, treading carefully, now realizing he had blundered into a complicated situation. "Merlin's helping us out, he's—"

"I can assure you we're better off without his help," Will spat. "He's a damn walking environmental hazard!"

He was definitely still angry, then. Merlin didn't know how to respond; most importantly, he had no idea how to get Will away from the table before he said too much.

"He's a nice guy, Will."

"He's a _moron_, that's what he is—walking around making it snow and poking at rain clouds like he knows what he's doing, like he's _entitled_ to make the whole planet his freakin' playground!" Everyone was confused, looking at Will as if he'd lost his mind, and Merlin was in no hurry to explain. When he opened his mouth to say something, Will interrupted him, "And don't tell me you don't do that anymore. We had snowstorms last September! _Snowstorms_! You don't even bother making your shit believable! I came _this_ close to tracking you down and getting you locked up! Did you really not learn _anything_ from me? Do you have any idea how fragile the environment is?"

Arthur was the only one with the guts to say, "I hope you know how crazy you sound, man. Just—thought I'd point it out."

Will's rage found a new target, zeroing in on Arthur instead. "Do I look like I care? This is none of your damned business! Who are you anyway?"

Arthur clenched his jaw and stared him down. "I'm his husband."

"Well, then, you know what I'm—" Will paused and glanced at Merlin's horrified face with an evil gleam in his eyes. "Oh, you _don't_ know! His own husband, and he doesn't know!"

Merlin bit his lip. He wished he could stop Will, but the man was determined—and Arthur wouldn't stop until he found out, anyway.

"Enlighten me," he sneered.

"Merlin here has a superpower. Did you know that?"

Morgana, Lance, and Arthur seemed incredulous; but Merlin's face, desperate and subdued, gave them pause.

"It's true," he admitted, refusing to meet their eyes.

"But," Morgana frowned, "but that's not possible."

"It is, though," Arthur, who had gone quiet and contemplative, disagreed. "I've seen it once or twice in clients of mine. They always ask me to keep quiet and not mention it in court, but they're not afraid to show it to me."

"Like the Muirdens," Merlin said eagerly.

Arthur seemed surprised, and Merlin reprimanded himself for tattling. He comforted himself with the knowledge that Arthur would never mention this in court, and made a mental note to ask for Arthur's word on the matter.

"Yeah, attorney-client privilege," Lance nodded. "I defended a guy who could fly the other day. He's a politician—pretty well-known, too. They just don't talk about it in public."

"I don't know many other people who can do it, but yeah, I know there are others like me out there."

"You don't get it!" Will seemed put-off by everyone's bland reactions. "Your moronic husband's ability—if you can even call it that; I'd sooner call it a hazard on a par with nuclear energy, cow meat or whatever—is _dangerous_. It doesn't help that he's a complete idiot who doesn't do _anything right_—"

Arthur bristled. Apparently, he didn't like it when people besides him insulted Merlin. "What's his power?"

"He controls the weather—destroys flora and fauna all over the world without a second thought."

Lance stared at Merlin, clearly weighing environment-destroying abilities with what he knew of Merlin's character. "I'm sure he doesn't do it on purpose, though. You're probably exaggerating."

"He's _irresponsible_. He's helping kill the planet. You know me, Lance. Never compromise, not even in the face of Armageddon. Even _looking_ at him makes me sick to my stomach."

Arthur was pensive for a moment. He shot Merlin a we'll-talk-about-this-later look before speaking up in his defense. "Listen, man, just leave him alone, yeah? If you don't want to be here, then by all means leave. I'm sure he does his best not to destroy your precious flora, but you can't hold him responsible for every unforeseeable consequence of his actions. The planet's climate has already gone to hell with or without his interference."

Will pursed his lips. "I see he's found an equally moronic guy to marry him! _Idiots._ Ignorance is bliss, then? Whatever. Lance, call me once you're done here. And please don't expect me to work with this guy—ever."

Lance nodded, and Will left at once.

"That was...nice," Merlin said weakly.

"You have some explaining to do, Merlin," Morgana said sternly; she then smiled. "And a hell of a lot of demonstrating."

**

Arthur and Merlin discussed the matter later at home. Arthur was amused to recall the snowstorms that had followed his first victory in court, and the rain that had driven Merlin home with him on their first 'date.'

"'Self-sabotage,'" he quoted, sitting on the edge of Merlin's bed. "I remember."

"It was, too! It took me ages to gather the courage to flee from you—and then it started raining!"

"You clearly didn't do a very good job convincing yourself to leave."

"I didn't," Merlin admitted with a flushed grin.

Arthur was silent for a minute, and then said, "Were you ever going to tell me?"

After Will, Merlin had learned not to tell anyone, ever. "No," he replied honestly. "But it's nothing personal—I just don't like telling people. I'd never know how you'd react."

"You still could've told me. You know I can keep a secret."

"Yes. Yes, you can. I'm sorry; it's really nothing personal."

Arthur smiled suddenly, remembering something else. "After the Valiant case, rain followed me wherever I went all day—literally. That was you too, I take it?"

"It was." Merlin shrugged. "I was irritated."

"That's a mild way of putting it."

Merlin cocked his head to the side. "Well, you _were_ an ass."

"I had to win." Arthur smirked. "Nothing personal. You were just pissing me off—you were trying so very hard. I couldn't help wanting to see you crash and burn."

"Do you ever listen to yourself gloat?" Merlin asked, incredulous. "No, really, do you? You're so bigheaded sometimes, it's a wonder you even _exist_."

"Hey, I have the brains to back it up. And the body, depending on what I'm gloating about."

Merlin glanced down at Arthur's body, his gaze lingering as if he needed further proof. Before he could catch himself, Arthur noticed, and smirked. Emboldened by what he chose to interpret as encouragement, Merlin asked, "Do you want to—? Tonight?"

Arthur's face fell, his lips twisting in a strange half-smile. "You weren't going to tell me," he said finally. "I think that says something about what we have here, doesn't it?"

He stood and left the room without another word, leaving Merlin to puzzle over his bizarre statement.

**

Merlin went over the night's events several times in his head, unable to make either heads or tails of Arthur's exaggerated reaction. Eventually, self-consciousness caught up with him, and he realized that Arthur had probably been alarmed to find that someone so close to him had turned out to be a freak of nature. It was a natural enough response—one Merlin could both accept and tolerate.

Nevertheless, the following morning found him defensive and skittish, unwilling to see Arthur. Merlin managed to get ready for work and leave their apartment far earlier than usual. He was at the office by the time Arthur usually woke up; just when Merlin realized they would manage to spend the entire day apart, his secretary reminded him of the Muirden hearing scheduled for ten o'clock.

In order to settle the matter of Mordred's custody, Judge Tauren had requested to hear the boy speak for himself. As per custom, this did not occur in the main courtroom, but in the judge's chamber, with neither parent present.

"I like them both, really," Mordred said, confused. "I don't want to have to choose."

"We're not asking you to choose, Mordred," Merlin noted.

"No," he deadpanned. "You're trying to _trick_ me into choosing. It's worse."

Arthur leaned forward, giving him a winning smile. "Well, can you tell us what living with your mother has been like these past few months?"

"It's all right. Why do you want to win so badly? You like him enough to let him win, don't you?"

Arthur stared at him. "Well, it's my job, Mordred. I have to win. I'm defending your mother; I'm legally bound to do everything in my power to help her win."

"Mom and Dad still like each other, though, even if they can't stop fighting—like you guys. They'll understand that eventually."

Judge Tauren raised his eyebrow at Merlin, who made a noncommittal gesture meant to indicate he had no idea why Mordred was rambling about his marriage instead of the Muirdens'. It wasn't exactly true—he just didn't know how to ask Mordred to stay away from his and Arthur's minds for the time being.

"It's so frustrating, though," Mordred said, turning around to face him. "If you'd just talk, everything would be much easier."

"Mordred, are you—" Arthur began.

The boy nodded. Merlin wanted to object, but Arthur's stern glare shut him up. What grounds could he offer anyway? '_But Your Honor, he _promised_ not to tell!_' wouldn't work; best-case scenario, he'd be held in contempt for withholding essential information about the Muirdens. He scowled, hoping Mordred would know better than to reveal much.

"And your parents." It wasn't a question. Mordred threw an apprehensive glance at the judge before agreeing, which Arthur did not miss. "What's wrong? What are they like—what do they do?"

"Dad... hurts people," Mordred admitted in a subdued tone, looking sad; the judge's eyes widened. "He's a bad guy. I get that. I know what he does is wrong, but he's my father and I love him. Mom's—different, but still—look, they to do whatever they have to do to keep the casino running. I understand. I won't choose between them."

He fell silent, making it clear that he would say no more.

"Thank you, Mordred," Tauren said kindly, walking him to the door.

After Mordred had left, the judge turned to Arthur and Merlin. "I don't know what's going on with those two, but I'll keep the boy with his mother for the time being. You have one week to prove to me that the kid was making things up, Mr. Emrys, or I'll call Social Services and the DA's office on the Muirdens, and I'll report you to the New York Bar Association for letting a child remain in harm's way just because of a petty feud with your husband. Good day, Counselors."

They exited the judge's chambers. Merlin felt an odd lump in his throat, disappointed with Arthur for having violated their agreement and mentioned the Muirdens' abilities before the judge. Of _course_ Judge Tauren had misunderstood Mordred's statement—and Merlin's entire career was in danger, again, just because of Arthur. Had he no common sense? What good could have come from that?

"What the hell?" he snapped. "What gave you the right to bring that up, Arthur?"

"The kid wasn't saying anything else! I had to ask _something_!"

"You knew Tauren wouldn't understand—you knew it would destabilize Mordred," Merlin hissed, his lower lip quivering with fury. "But then again, it's what you do, isn't it? You do whatever you want, dig up or create whatever you can, just to throw your opponent off his feet! Who cares about being _nice_ or, you know, _human_? Why not terrify a small child if it means you're going to win?"

Arthur was quiet; he could probably think of a thousand appropriate retorts, but Merlin's unrelenting rage would not be appeased by lame excuses.

"The best part about this—the _real_ ironic twist—is that I'd actually convinced myself that my first impression had been mistaken. You couldn't be a complete prick if you'd managed to look like a decent human being for weeks, now could you?" Merlin shook his head, realizing mid-diatribe where this rant was inevitably headed. "But no—you only made an effort because you wanted to salvage your career. Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not helping you out anymore. I hope no one in their right mind actually believes I'd marry you for real."

"Wow," Arthur said after a moment. "But wait, listen—"

"I want a divorce."

Arthur grimaced. "Can I just—"

Merlin clenched his jaw. "Look, I've made my decision. Do you think there's anything you can say that will actually change my mind?"

Strangely enough, Arthur seemed infuriated. "No. No, I guess not."

"I'll draft a Separation Agreement and fax it to your office, then."

"Good!"

"Good."

Arthur swallowed his anger and stated, in a perfectly level tone, "I'll pass by the apartment to get my stuff later."

Merlin nodded stiffly. "Leave your key on the coffee table."

"Fine."

They walked away in separate directions. Merlin's anger began to dull after a few minutes, and he started wondering if perhaps he hadn't just made a huge mistake.

**

He'd—overreacted, maybe. At the time, Merlin's fury had felt justified, but later on, at home, he wondered if he hadn't given up on something great for no good reason. Arthur often let his passion for winning run away with him in court; it wasn't even the first time this had been an issue between them.

The apartment felt empty. Arthur had occasionally slept at his own apartment since the wedding, but this was different. There were little things missing all over the place, things Merlin hadn't even remembered as Arthur's possessions.

Merlin was _pining_. He hadn't pined for anyone since Will, and he'd forgotten how awful it was. He felt as though what they'd had—whatever it was—had been nipped in the bud, aborted long before it could evolve beyond their strangely comfortable and tense mutual tolerance. Merlin couldn't even rightfully say he missed being with Arthur; at best, he missed the possibility of someday doing just that.

He contemplated calling Morgana and asking her to come over with comfort food, but realized he wouldn't know how to explain what exactly had happened. Merlin knew the Mordred thing had been only the breaking point—he'd simply grown tired of pretending, and used a tiny incident as an out to avoid blowing up over the embarrassingly sentimental issue.

The humiliating truth was this: Merlin really, really wanted to be with Arthur. Hell, he would gladly go on for years cleaning up after Arthur's mess and picking the olives off his pizza. Merlin had enjoyed the domesticity of it all, and he'd even begun to understand why someone sane would contemplate getting married. Well, since Merlin was being honest with himself, he had to admit that right now, he was kind of desperate to feel married again—which was of course ridiculous, because they'd never actually been married in anything but name.

The previous weekend, they'd started a _Lord of the Rings_ marathon, and left off halfway through the second movie. He fetched the boxed set and put on _The Two Towers_, curling on the sofa with a blanket that Arthur had left. He angrily stuffed his face with Sno Balls, cursing the day he'd thought it would be funny to buy a bag for the apartment.

He didn't fall asleep until long after _The Return of the King_ had ended.

**

The universe was quite clearly out to get him once more. Merlin arrived at work bleary-eyed and miserable, and found his secretary flustered, waiting for him near the elevator clutching a sheet of paper with trembling hands.

"You're not going to like this," she said, handing him the paper.

After reading and rereading, Merlin found himself staring at the words, unable to process them for a few seconds.

"_Shit_."

He ran to his office and started making frantic phone calls to assess the damage.

The facts were these: Sophia and Edwin had been running a Ponzi scheme out of their Vegas casinos. The scam was unsustainable, and they had run out of sources from which to drain money; the Nevada Gaming Commission had uncovered their con. Edwin had asked Merlin for a brief meeting—and he agreed, more out of curiosity than anything.

The Muirdens were hiding in an out-of-town motel room; their tragedy had brought them back together, apparently, and there were few signs of their previous hostility. Little Mordred was sitting on the bed, watching as his parents flailed wildly about the room.

"Can you explain your system to me?" Merlin asked. "If I know what's going on, maybe I can find a way to make it sound legal—or at least refer you to someone who might."

Mordred looked at his mother and said, "He knows, Mom. It's okay. He's one of us."

"Mind control is my thing," Sophia confessed at once. "I hypnotize people with water—it's hard to explain. But anyway, I convinced some key members of the Las Vegas financial and political administration that we were legit, and that our yearly reports were sound, even though they made no sense at all."

"So you didn't even try to make them look acceptable?"

Edwin shrugged. "Why would we? Everyone in charge was thoroughly convinced."

At that point, Arthur arrived at the room; he sat at a careful distance from Merlin, who did his best not to look his way too much. He looked fine; a little tired, perhaps, and worried, but that could easily be credited to the Muirden situation.

"What did I miss?" Arthur asked, not directing the question to anyone in particular.

"She does mind control," Merlin spoke up at once, unable to sound nonchalant. "Apparently, nothing about their casino chain is legal. Do you even own the terrains?"

She smiled thinly. "Of course. Their former owners think we paid a large amount of money for them."

"Liquor license? Gaming permit?" Arthur asked.

She shrugged.

Merlin was then struck by a horrible thought, but Arthur anticipated his question. "Your chapels didn't have license to perform marriages either, I take it?"

Sophia shook her head, oblivious to the implications of the question. "We forged the Vegas Marriage Bureau's certificates."

"Everything will be rendered null and void once the government starts investigating, then," Arthur said dispassionately. The Muirdens nodded.

"Oh, God," Merlin breathed out. The ceremony hadn't been valid; they had never been married. It was no surprise that Arthur was so unaffected, of course, but Merlin felt completely disoriented.

"Where did you get the money?" Arthur continued.

"It's easy to meet wealthy people when you own a casino," Sophia shrugged again. "I tricked them into spending more money than they thought they were spending. We got millions that way. We have enough hidden safely to get out of the country undisturbed." She laughed, as if the idea of someone trying to stop them was ridiculous—and given her power, it probably was. "I just wanted to thank you both for your help. The whole thing's pointless now, of course, but you did a fine job. When we have money to spare again, I'll send some your way."

Arthur's face mirrored the disgust Merlin felt. "And you," he said, turning to Edwin, "what's your ability?"

"I make people ill," he replied, a twisted sneer on his face. "I can make them hurt if I want to."

Merlin, understanding the threat for what it was, sat up straight in his chair. Sophia reached for her husband's hand and squeezed it, smiling lovingly at him.

"Well, I'm glad your marriage crisis didn't reach a point where you started using these—_tricks_ against each other," said Arthur, glancing at Merlin. "It seems pretty clear that the last thing anyone in this room needs is a divorce attorney, so I'll take my leave."

He slammed the door on his way out. Merlin's throat felt dry; he had a hard time speaking. "I'd advise you to hire a criminal lawyer as quickly as possible, but I take it you'd prefer to flee the country."

"Yes," Edwin cleared his throat. "We'll travel for a while. We have friends who owe us for—things."

"It's not a problem," Sophia said. "Mordred's never been to Belize!"

Merlin decided he would rather not ask. "I'm sure he'll enjoy it. Goodbye, Mr. Muirden, Mrs. Muirden. Mordred."

He waved at the boy and left, half-hoping to run into Arthur; but there was no trace of him by the time Merlin reached the hall. He tried to remember how angry and disappointed he'd been in Arthur the previous day, and failed—he just wished things could somehow return to the way they'd been before this hellish week.

**

The Muirdens' con hit the news, and the shit-storm was even bigger than Merlin had anticipated. Apparently, the couple had swindled hundreds of prominent politicians and celebrities out of millions, and everyone was very, very angry.

Judge Tauren filed a complaint with the Appellate Division of the New York State Supreme Court, trying to get Merlin and Arthur disbarred for withholding essential information from the court and assisting the Muirdens to commit a series of felonies. A judge was appointed to examine the complaints. She called Arthur and Merlin to an informal preliminary hearing her chamber three days later.

"Counselors, the purpose of this hearing is to determine whether either of you had knowledge of Edwin and Sophia Muirden's illegal activities, and whether by action or inaction you aided them in the perpetration of any of the dozens of felonies they have been charged with in accordance with Nevada laws."

"Neither of us was informed regarding the specifics of their casino chain's _modus operandi_, Your Honor," Arthur replied. "The evidence Judge Tauren cites in his report is circumstantial at best; I sought merely to question the boy regarding his parents' characters, and the record shows that none of my questions indicated inside knowledge of the Muirdens' illegal enterprises. There is nothing to support the report's idle—and, frankly, _insulting_ allegation that I had any information concerning these felonies."

"Furthermore," Merlin added, "the Muirdens would have little reason to divulge their criminal activity to their divorce attorneys. Having us believe that they had considerable assets was in their best interests; they in all likelihood hoped to continue their schemes after one or the other spouse gained full control of the casino chain."

The stern judge—whom Merlin had met years ago, before finishing Law School, simply as an irritating know-it-all ditz named Nimueh—was unmoved. "Do you know that for a fact, Mr. Emrys?"

"I do not."

"Guesswork and hearsay have no place in a court of law, Counselor."

"Oh, I stand corrected, Your Honor," he snapped, and Arthur flashed him a warning glare. He disregarded it; he hated feeling cornered, and right now he resented the universe enough to feel slightly suicidal. Caring about his career was what had got him into this mess with Arthur to begin with—he wouldn't go to any further lengths to protect it.

"I do not believe it to be an accident that the Muirdens hired a married couple to represent them," she said.

"We weren't married at the time," Merlin noted. "And even if we had been, with all due respect, Your Honor, why wouldn't they deceive us both?"

"I'm asking the questions here, Mr. Emrys; and you are trying my patience. I am not yet sure whether both of you knew what was happening or just one." She smiled. "But I'm sure we'll have fun finding out over the course of the next few days."

Merlin was getting aggravated. "Honestly, Your Honor, what could we have done to help them anyway? We're divorce attorneys!"

"Merlin, control yourself," Arthur hissed.

"Accessory after the fact, Mr. Emrys! Surely your lengthy foray into Family Law hasn't made you forget Criminal Law _completely_."

"I—" Arthur gripped his elbow tightly, trying to shut him up, but Merlin refused to obey. "You seem to have made your mind up already, Your Honor. Why not just convict us off the bat, then?"

"I'll be glad to hold you in contempt if you continue to behave this way!"

"You have no evidence to justify a prolonged inquiry anyway," Merlin added. He was already screwed—Nimueh was out for blood, and she clearly wanted his. He might as well fall on the metaphorical sword; maybe she'd let Arthur off if she got mad enough at Merlin.

"Are you quite finished, Counselor?"

"I am."

She inclined her head. "Well, then, allow me to retort. Mr. and Mrs. Muirden are on the run; no one knows where they are. The public and the media are begging for _someone_ to take the fallout. Unless one of you tells me where they are, or gives me the names of people who helped the Muirdens build their scheme, I will get you _both_ disbarred, and you'll be so disgraced no one will ever want to employ you again—in this or in any other county."

"So you don't actually think we're guilty," Arthur said. "You're just trying to find a way to look good in the media."

"Like Mr. Emrys said, you are divorce attorneys," she shrugged. "I do not care whether you are the ones who get crucified in the public eye, but _someone_ must be. The Muirdens owe a debt to society."

"A debt that is clearly not ours to pay!" Arthur protested. "We cannot—"

"What if only one of us takes the fallout," Merlin said suddenly. "Would that be acceptable?"

Arthur turned to gape at him. "_What_?"

"Would you be willing to convict only one of us and let the other go?" Merlin insisted, disregarding Arthur.

"Of course." The judge nodded. "I only serve justice."

"You're a joke, and a hypocrite," Arthur spat. "This whole case is a joke. Merlin, I don't know what you think you're up to, but come on, you know this is crazy!"

"No." He took in Arthur's frenzied look, and understood his fear: he thought Merlin was about to turn on him and fabricate evidence to get Arthur disbarred. How could he think Merlin was capable of such a thing? "_No_. Your Honor, I'll willingly confess to whatever violation of the state's Rules of Conduct you wish to pin on me."

"Are you out of your _mind_?" Arthur groaned.

Merlin continued to ignore him. "I would like to move for a separate trial, Your Honor, and will fulfill the terms of this agreement after Mr. Pendragon has been acquitted."

"We cannot draft this agreement on paper, for obvious reasons," the judge mused. "But I will hold you to your word, Mr. Emrys. I will schedule a date for both hearings. Good day," she said, standing and leaving the room.

Arthur reached inside his pocket and fiddled with something that looked like a cell phone for a minute. "You've gone mad," he said after a minute, staring at Merlin in horrified awe. "You've gone completely mad."

"She wanted one of us," Merlin shrugged. Now that his altercation with Nimueh had finished, his discomfort regarding Arthur's proximity had returned. He was torn between an intense desire to flee as quickly as possible and an almost masochistic wish to enjoy Arthur's company for a while longer, even though everything was different now.

"Yes, but _why you_?" Arthur asked forcefully.

"I know how much your reputation matters to you. That's what started everything, right? It made you waste two months of your life with me—hell, a lot more, even, if you consider how much effort you put into besting me in court before that. You're more dedicated than I am, and that's saying something."

"It wasn't—" Arthur punched the table and growled. "Oh, God. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Merlin, but I _don't_ care about my career. I moved here from California out of the blue without a second thought, remember?"

Merlin frowned. "But why—"

"I never back away from a challenge. You should know that by now."

"It was hardly a challenge," Merlin reasoned; his brain was having a hard time catching up with the conversation. "You won the Mora case."

Arthur gave him a pointed look. Merlin blinked at him, confused. "It wasn't about the case, Merlin, and it sure as hell wasn't about my career," he spelled it out tiredly. "Okay? It took me a while to get it, to be honest, but it's true. I spent these two months with you because I wanted to; it's that simple."

Caught completely off-guard, Merlin could do nothing but stare.

"Now you've decided you've had enough, and that's okay. I wouldn't agree to go down without a fight if there was anything to fight for, but there clearly isn't, so I'll back off. It was fun, though. I suppose I should thank you for that—for 'tolerating me,' as you so often put it."

Merlin had never felt like more of an idiot—or an ass, for that matter. He was still at a loss for words; when he opened his mouth, for some reason, the only thing he could think of to say was, "After you interrogated Mordred, you wanted to say something, but I kept interrupting. What was it?"

"I was going to apologize. I knew it wouldn't do much good, but I swear I wasn't thinking straight—something in his behavior told me he was terrified, and I assumed it had something to do with his parents' powers. I had no right to bring that up. I _am_ sorry, for what it's worth."

Merlin nodded. "I hated you," he confessed, not knowing where to begin and figuring that was as good a start as any. Arthur grimaced, and he hurried to clarify. "I didn't think you meant any of it. I thought you were just...really doing your best to help your career along. I hated you for making me care, when you so clearly didn't."

"But I—"

"I _know—now_ I know. Will you let me talk and just listen for a second? I didn't think any of it was real, but trust me, I _really_ wanted it to be. Sure, I didn't like you at first, and yeah, most people try out the whole liking thing before getting married, but I didn't get to know you well until we started living together." Merlin knew he was blushing, but soldiered on, determined, "And then I fell, Arthur, and I fell _hard_, and you have no idea how much it tortured me not to touch you unless we were in public—not to do anything unless we were pretending."

Arthur laughed, realizing the absurdity of their predicament. "Oh, but I really think I do," he pointed out. "I was right there with you! Jesus, this is _ridiculous_."

Merlin scratched his neck with an abashed grin. "It is."

"Why didn't you tell me about the superpower thing?"

"Oh. Now your taking offense at that makes a lot more sense," Merlin realized. "Well, to be honest, I'd never really thought about it; like I told you at the time, I never tell anyone. I would've told you at some point, though, if I thought you—well, if I'd imagined you were actually in it for real." He smiled wickedly. "Also, I've always wanted to figure out ways to use this thing in bed, and I'm sure you'll give me ideas."

"Believe me, I've had nothing _but_ ideas since the day I found out," Arthur admitted, grinning. "Oh, thank God, does this mean we can have sex again? Seriously, the pent-up frustration is _killing_ me."

"Yes, please," Merlin whimpered. "Not here, though, the judge will come back any minute."

Arthur held up the device he'd been fiddling with—not his cell phone, but a digital recorder. "About that—I recorded the whole thing. Unless you're determined to go through with this career suicide, we can get this demented judge in all sorts of trouble and clear our names in one go."

"_Nice_," Merlin said approvingly.

"Now that that's settled, can we go home?"

Merlin got up at once and followed Arthur out the door.

"Can you move back in?" he asked, taking Arthur's hand. "I think I miss having your shoes scattered all over the place."

**

Months later, Arthur and Merlin became one of the many couples married at The Beetles' chapel who returned to Vegas for a weekend to renew their vows and get a valid certificate. This time, however, Morgana was forewarned, and started planning ahead in earnest. It would be difficult for the three of them to get a day off at the same time—Arthur was now working at their firm as well—so they'd fly out on Friday and return by Sunday night.

"There are actual churches online where you can get ordained, right?" she asked Merlin after he and Arthur announced their plans. "I could officiate the wedding! I've always wanted to do that." She cleared her throat and tried to look solemn. "'By the powers invested in me by the state of New York and the internet guys, I now pronounce you man and husband.' Er, husband and husband? What's PC here?"

"We've already _had_ a wedding, Morgana," Arthur pointed out. "Also, you watch too much TV. It can't be good for you."

"I liked you better when I thought pop culture references went over your head, you know," she complained. "You know, Arthur, one day Merlin will get rid of you and find a husband whom we'll actually approve of. If we can live without you, ducky—"

"_My Fair Lady_," Arthur identified the quote at once, smiling serenely.

"'I always cry at weddings,'" she tried again.

"And laugh at funerals!" he retorted. "Too easy—_Rocky Horror_. 'I jumped, but I did not snuff it, oh no.'"

"'If I had snuffed it, I would not be here to tell what I have told.' Classy!" she grinned. "_A Clockwork Orange_."

"All right, fifteen minutes until the lasagna is done," Merlin said, stepping out of the kitchen. "I've got one for you guys, then. 'When it comes to you and us, I have a few unanswered questions.'"

"'So, before this tale of bloody revenge reaches its climax, I'm going to ask you some questions, and I want you to tell me the truth,'" Arthur quoted on cue, in his best impression of David Carradine.

"'However, therein lies a dilemma,'" Merlin continued, sitting beside him and tossing his legs over Arthur's. "Very good! I have trained you well, young Padawan."

Arthur stroked his neck with a smile. "You have."

Morgana thought for a minute, and decided on, "'I'm not questioning your powers of observation.'"

"'I'm merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man who he is,'" Arthur and Merlin replied in near unison, glanced at each other and chuckled.

"You guys are disgusting," she said fondly.

The doorbell rang; Lance arrived, with Gwen in tow. They had started dating right after Griffin Inc.'s multi-million dollar settlement had been finalized; she had been one of the case's main witnesses. Her ex-husband, already greatly impoverished by the devastating divorce case Merlin and Arthur had set up for him, was now a lower-middle-class fugitive from justice.

"These two want to go to Vegas to get the marriage certificate fixed once and for all," Morgana informed them at once. "What do you say we all make a weekend trip of it?"

"Sure," Lance called out from the kitchen before returning with four wine glasses. "Just let me know in advance."

"It's fine by me, too. Oh! Merlin could make it snow in Vegas!" Gwen suggested excitedly. "He could freeze the Bellagio fountains!"

Lance groaned. "Honey, the Vegas climate won't take kindly to snow."

"Maybe I can make it snow just in the hotel area," Merlin offered, trying to find a middle ground.

Lance gave him a stern look. "You're working with Greenpeace now, Merlin. You made a commitment not to use your abilities for anything major without consulting our superiors first."

"Yes, I know!"

"You saw how much you helped last hurricane season. Your powers can be used for good," he pressed on, "if you use them responsibly."

"I remember, Lance," Merlin nodded, chastised.

"_Behave_, Merlin, now that's a good boy," Arthur ordered condescendingly, patting his head; he didn't like the way Lance and his Greenpeace friends bossed Merlin around, and mocked them at every possible opportunity.

Merlin poked his tongue out at Arthur, who ruffled his hair in response. "I am not a _dog_," he protested, thrusting the oven timer in Arthur's hands. "And now, just for that, you're the one in charge of the lasagna."

Arthur wrapped his arm around Merlin and nibbled at his ear playfully.

"As you wish," he said softly, and Merlin couldn't help smiling in response.


End file.
